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"Mr.  Fawcett  -was  the  man  of  -whom  Longfellow  expected 
more  than  of  any  of  the  other  young  American  authors, 
both  as  a  poet  and' a  novelist." — American  Queen. 


EDGAR  FAWCETT'S  WRITINGS. 


SONG    AND    STORY. 

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gilt  top.    $1.50. 

"  The  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  gives  high  praise  to  Mr.  FAW- 
CETT'S poetry,  and  compares  his  briefer  lyrics  to  the  famous 
Emaux  et  Camees  of  Theophile  Gautier."  —  Beacon. 

"  Possessed  of  the  singing  voice,  the  artist's  intolerance  of 
slovenly  workmanship,  and  an  unerring  sense  of  proportion, 
Mr.  FAWCETT  should  fulfil  the  most  sanguine  expectations. 
.  .  .  They  are  filled  with  the  charm  of  suggestiveness ;  scarcely 
a  poem  but  brings  some  new  thought,  some  strange  analogy,  to 
haunt  the  brain'after  reading  it."  —  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS, 
in  The  Week. 


TINKLING    CYMBALS. 

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A  brilliant  novel  of  New  York  and  Newport  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  by  one  of  its  closest  and  most  observing  students. 
" Enchantingly  interesting."—  The  Inter-Ocean  (Chicago). 


ADVENTURES    OF    A    WIDOW, 
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"  Mr.  FAWCETT  is,  without  question,  one  of  the  best  of  our 
younger  novelists.  ...  He  is  thoroughly  at  home  among  the 
people  and  the  scenes  he  chooses  to  depict."  —  Beacon  (Boston). 
"  As  a  writer,  Mr.  FAWCETT  is  most  enjoyable.  He  has  won- 
derful command  of  emotion,  and  in  his  recent  novels  there  are 
many  passages  of  singular  strength,  hot  passion,  or  most  moving 
pathos.  .  .  .  He  is  irresistibly  attractive." 


JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  BOSTON. 


THE 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW 


BY 


EDGAR   FAWCETT 

AUTHOR   OF    "A    GENTLEMAN   OF    LEISURE,"     "A    HOPELESS 

CASE,"    "AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN,"    "TINKLING 

CYMBALS,"    ETC. 


BOSTON 

JAMES   R.  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY 
1884 


Copyright,  fSSj  and  1884, 
BY    EDGAR    FAWCETT. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


TEE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW, 


i. 

~TT  is  not  long  ago  that  the  last  conservative 
resident  of  Bond  Street,  proud  of  his  ancient 
possessorship  and  no  doubt  loving  the  big  brick 
structure  with  arched  doorway  and  dormer  win- 
dows in  which  he  first  saw  the  light,  felt  himself 
relentlessly  swept  from  that  interesting  quarter  by 
the  stout  besom  of  commerce.  Interesting  the 
street  really  is  for  all  to  whom  old  things  appeal 
with  any  charm.  It  is  characteristic  of  our  bril- 
liant New  York,  however,  that  few  antiquarian 
feet  tread  her  pavements,  and  that  she  is  too  busy 
with  her  bustling  and  thrifty  present  to  reflect 
that  she  has  ever  reached  it  through  a  noteworthy 
past.  Some  day  it  will  perhaps  be  recorded  of  her 
that  among  all  cities  she  has  been  the  least  pre- 
servative of  tradition  and  memorial.  The  hoary 
antiquity  of  her  transatlantic  sisters  would  seem 
to  have  made  her  unduly  conscious  of  her  own 
7 


8  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

youth.  She  has  so  long  looked  over  seas  for  all 
her  history  and  romance,  that  now,  when  she  can 
safely  boast  two  solid  centuries  of  age,  the  habit 
yet  firmly  clings,  and  she  cares  as  little  for  the 
annals  of  her  fine  and  stately  growth  as  though, 
like  Troy,  she  had  risen,  roof  and  spire,  to  the 
strains  of  magic  melody. 

It  might  be  of  profit,  and  surely  it  would  be  of 
pleasure,  were  she  to  care  more  for  the  echoes  of 
those  harsh  and  sometimes  tragic  sounds  that  have 
actually  blent  their  serious  music  with  her  rise. 
As  it  is,  she  is  rich  in  neglected  memories;  she 
has  tombs  that  dumbly  reproach  her  ignoring  eye ; 
she  has  nooks  and  purlieus  that  teem  with  remin- 
iscence and  are  silent  testimonials  of  her  indiffer- 
ence. Her  Battery  and  her  Bowling  Green,  each 
bathed  in  the  tender  glamour  of  Colonial  associa- 
tion, lie  frowned  upon  by  the  grim  scorn  of  recent 
warehouses  and  jeered  at  by  the  sarcastic  shriek 
of  the  neighboring  steam-tug.  She  can  easily 
guide  you  to  the  modern  clamors  of  her  Stock- 
Exchange  ;  but  if  you  asked  her  to  show  you  the 
graves  of  Stuyvesant  and  Montgomery  she  might 
find  the  task  a  hard  one,  though  thousands  of  her 
citizens  daily  pass  and  re-pass  these  hallowed 
spots.  Boston,  with  its  gentle  ancestral  pride, 
might  well  teach  her  a  lesson  in  retrospective  self- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.  9 

esteem.  Her  own  harbor,  like  that  of  Boston,  has 
had  its  "tea-party,"  and  yet  one  whose  anniversary 
now  remains  a  shadow.  On  Golden  Hill,  in  her 
own  streets,  the  first  battle  of  our  Revolution  was 
fought,  the  first  blood  in  the  cause  of  our  freedom 
was  spilled ;  yet  while  Boston  stanchly  commemo- 
rates its  later  "massacre,"  what  tribute  of  oratory, 
essay  or  song  has  that  other  momentous  contest 
received?  This  metropolitan  disdain  of  local  sou- 
venir can  ill  excuse  itself  on  the  plea  of  intoler- 
ance toward  provincialism ;  for  if  the  great  cities 
of  Europe  are  not  ashamed  to  admit  themselves 
once  barbaric,  Hudson  in  fray  or  traffic  with  the 
swarthy  Manhattans,  or  old  Van  Twiller  scowling 
at  the  anathemas  of  Bogardus,  holds  at  least  a  pic- 
torial value  and  significance. 

Bond  Street  has  always  been  but  a  brief  strip  of 
thoroughfare,  running  at  right  angles  between  the 
Bowery  and  Broadway.  Scarcely  more  than  thirty 
years  ago  it  possessed  the  quietude  and  dignity  of 
a  patrician  domain ;  it  was  beloved  of  our  Knick- 
erbocker social  element;  it  was  the  tranquil  strong- 
hold of  caste  and  exclusiveness.  Its  births,  mar- 
riages and  deaths  were  all  touched  with  a  modest 
distinction.  Extravagance  was  its  horror  and 
ostentation  its  antipathy.  The  cheer  of  its  enter- 
tainments would  often  descend  to  lemonade  and 


10          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

sponge-cake,  and  rarely  rise  above  the  luxury  of 
claret-punch  and  ice-cream.  Its  belles  were  of 
demurer  type  than  the  brisk-paced  ladies  of  this 
period,  and  its  beaux  paid  as  close  heed  to  the 
straight  line  in  morals  as  many  of  their  successors 
now  bestow  upon  it  in  the  matter  of  huir-parting. 
Bond  Street  was  by  no  means  the  sole  haunt  of 
the  aristocracy,  but  it  was  very  representative, 
very  important,  very  select.  There  was  even  a 
time  when  to  live  there  at  all  conferred  a  certain 
patent  of  respectability.  It  was  forgiven  you  that 
your  daughter  had  married  an  obscure  Smith,  or 
that  your  son  had  linked  his  lot  with  an  undesira- 
ble Jones,  if  you  had  once  come  permanently  to 
dwell  there.  The  whole  short,  broad  street  was 
superlatively  genteel.  Nothing  quite  describes  it 
like  that  pregnant  little  word.  It  dined  at  two 
o'clock ;  it  had  "tea"  at  six  ;  its  parties  were  held 
as  dissipated  if  they  broke  up  after  midnight ;  its 
young  men  "called"  on  its  young  women  of  an 
evening  with  ceremonious  regularity,  never  at 
such  times  donning  the  evening-coat  and  the 
white  neck-tie  which  now  so  widely  obtain,  but 
infallibly  wearing  these  on  all  occasions  of  after- 
noon festivity  with  an  unconcern  of  English  usage 
that  would  keenly  shock  many  of  their  descend- 
ants. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         11 

But  by  degrees  the  old  order  changed.  Com- 
merce pushed  northward  with  relentless  energy. 
Its  advance  still  left  Bond  Street  uninvaded,  but 
here  and  there  the  roomy  brick  dwellings  received 
distinctly  plebeian  inmates.  One  night,  in  this 
street  formerly  so  dedicated  to  the  calm  of  refine- 
ment, a  frightful  murder  occurred.  No  one  who 
lived  in  New  York  at  that  time  can  fail  to  remem- 
ber the  Burdell  assassination.  It  was  surrounded 
by  all  the  most  melodramatic  luridness  of  commis- 
sion. Its  victim  was  a  dentist,  slaughtered  at 
midnight  with  many  wounds  from  an  unknown 
hand.  The  mysterious  deed  shook  our  whole  city 
with  dismay.  For  weeks  it  was  a  topic  that  super- 
seded all  others.  To  search  through  old  news- 
papers of  the  excited  days  that  followed  is  to 
imagine  oneself  on  the  threshold  of  a  thrilling 
tale,  in  which  the  wrong  culprits  are  arraigned 
and  the  real  offender  hides  himself  behind  so  im- 
pregnable an  ambush  that  nothing  but  a  final 
chapter  can  overthrow  it.  Yet  in  this  ghastly 
affair  of  the  stabbed  dentist  a  protracted  trial 
resulted  in  a  tame  acquittal  and  no  more.  The 
story  ended  abruptly  and  midway.  It  lies  to-day 
as  alluring  material  for  the  writer  of  harrowing 
fiction.  It  still  retains  all  the  ghastly  piquancy  of 
an  undiscovered  crime. 


12          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

The  vast  surrounding  populace  of  New  York 
have  long  ago  learned  to  forget  it,  but  there  would 
be  truth  in  the  assertion  that  Bond  Street  recalls 
it  still.  Its  garish  publicity  scared  away  the  last 
of  her  fine-bred  denizens.  The  retreat  was 
haughty  and  gradual,  but  it  is  now  absolute. 
Where  Ten  Eyck  and  Van  Horn  had  engraved 
their  names  in  burly  letters  on  sheeny  door-plates, 
you  may  see  at  present  the  flaunting  signs  of  a 
hair-dresser,  a  beer-seller,  a  third-rate  French 
restaurateur,  a  furrier,  a  flower-maker,  and  an 
intercessor  between  despairing  authors  and  obdu- 
rate publishers.  The  glory  of  Bond  Street  has 
departed.  Its  region  has  become  lamentably 
"  down  town."  The  spoilers  possess  it  with  un- 
disputed rule.  It  is  in  one  sense  a  melancholy 
rain,  in  another  a  sprightly  transformation. 

But  several  years  before  its  decadence  turned 
unargued  fact  (and  now  we  near  a  time  that  al- 
most verges  upon  the  present),  Mr.  Hamilton 
Varick,  a  gentleman  well  past  fifty,  brought  into 
perhaps  the  most  spacious  mansion  of  the  street  a 
bride  scarcely  eighteen.  Mr.  Varick  had  lived 
abroad  for  many  years,  chiefly  in  Paris.  He  was 
a  tall,  spare  man,  with  a  white  jaunty  mustache 
and  a  black  eye  full  of  fire.  He  was  extremely 
rich,  and  unless  remote  relations  were  considered, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         13 

heirless.  It  was  generally  held  that  he  had  come 
home  to  end  his  days  after  a  life  of  foreign  folly 
and  gallantry.  This  may  at  first  have  seemed 
wholly  true,  but  it  also  occurred  that  he  had 
chosen  to  end  them  in  the  society  of  a  blooming 
young  wife. 

His  Bond  Street  house,  vacant  for  years,  sud- 
denly felt  the  embellishing  spell  of  the  upholsterer. 
Mr.  Varick  had  meanwhile  dropped  into  the  abodes 
of  old  friends  not  seen  in  twenty  years,  had  shaken 
hands,  with  a  characteristic  lightsome  cordiality, 
right  and  left,  had  beamingly  taken  upon  his  lap 
the  children  of  mothers  and  fathers  who  were 
once  his  youthful  comrades  in  dance  and  rout, 
had  reminded  numerous  altered  acquaintances 
who  he  was,  had  been  reminded  in  turn  by  numer- 
ous other  altered  acquaintances  who  they  were, 
had  twisted  his  white  mustache,  had  talked  with 
airy  patriotism  about  getting  back  to  die  in  one's 
native  land,  had  deplored  his  long  absence  from 
the  dear  scenes  of  youth,  had  regretted  secretly 
his  transpontine  Paris,  had  murmured  his  bad, 
witty  French  mots  to  whatever  matron  would  hear 
them,  had  got  himself  re-made  a  member  of  the 
big,  smart  Metropolitan  Club  which  he  thought  a 
mere  tiresome  sort  of  parochial  tavern  when  he 
last  left  it,  and  had  finally  amazed  everyone  by 


14         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

marrying  the  young  and  lovely  Miss  Pauline  Van 
Corlear. 

Pauline  herself  had  very  little  to  do  with  the 
whole  arrangement.  She  was  the  only  child  of  a 
widowed  mother  who  had  long  ago  designed  to 
marry  her  notably.  Mrs.  Van  Corlear  lived  upon 
a  very  meagre  income,  and  had  been  an  invalid 
since  Pauline  was  eight.  But  she  had  educated 
her  daughter  with  a  good  deal  of  patient  care,  and 
had  ultimately,  at  the  proper  age,  relegated  her  to 
the  chaperonage  of  a  more  prosperous  sister,  who 
had  launched  her  forth  into  society  with  due  £lan. 
Pauline  was  not  a  good  match  in  the  mercenary 
sense;  she  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  fact; 
she  had  been  brought  up  to  understand  it.  But 
she  was  fair  to  see,  and  perhaps  she  understood 
this  a  little  too  well. 

New  York  was  then  what  so  many  will  remem- 
ber it  to  have  been  about  twelve  years  ago.  The 
civil  war  had  left  few  traces  of  disaster;  it  was 
the  winter  of  seventy-one.  Wall  Street  was  in  a 
hey-day  of  hazardous  prosperity ;  sumptuous  balls 
were  given  by  cliques  of  the  most  careful  enter- 
tainers; a  number  of  ladies  who  had  long  re- 
mained unfashionable,  yet  who  had  preserved  an 
inherited  right  to  assert  social  claim  when  they 
chose,  now  came  to  the  front.  These  matrons 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.         15 

proved  a  strong  force,  and  resisted  in  sturdy  con- 
federacy all  efforts  of  outsiders  to  break  their 
dainty  ranks.  They  shielded  under  maternal 
wings  a  delightful  bevy  of  blooming  young  maid- 
ens, among  whom  was  Pauline  Van  Corlear. 

It  was  a  season  of  amusing  conflict.  Journal- 
ism had  not  yet  learned  to  fling  its  lime-light  of 
notoriety  upon  the  doings  and  mis-doings  of  pri- 
vate individuals.  Young  girls  did  not  wake  then, 
as  now,  on  the  morning  after  a  ball,  to  read  (or 
with  jealous  heart-burning  not  to  read)  minute 
descriptions  of  their  toilets  on  the  previous  night. 
The  "  society  column "  of  the  New  York  news- 
paper was  still  an  unborn  abomination.  Had  this 
not  been  the  case,  a  great  deal  of  pungent  scandal 
might  easily  have  found  its  way  into  print.  The 
phalanx  of  assertive  matrons  roundly  declared  that 
they  had  found  society  in  a  deplorable  condition. 
The  balls,  receptions  and  dinners  were  all  being 
given  by  a  horde  of  persons  without  grandfathers. 
The  reigning  belles  were  mostly  a  set  of  loud, 
rompish  girls,  with  names  that  rang  unfamiliarly. 
The  good  old  people  had  nearly  all  been  drowsing 
inactive  during  several  winters ;  one  could  hardly 
discover  an  Amsterdam,  a  Spuyteuduyvil,  a  Van 
Schuylkill,  among  this  unpleasant  rabble.  There 
had  been  quite  too  many  of  these  spurious  pre- 


16          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

tenders.  Legitimacy  must  uplift  its  debased  stand- 
ards. 

Legitimacy  did  so,  and  with  a  will.  Some  very 
fine  and  spacious  mansions  in  districts  bordering 
or  approximate  to  Washington  Square  were  hos- 
pitably thrown  open,  besides  others  of  a  smarter 
but  less  time-honored  elegance  in  "  up-town  "  en- 
vironments. The  new  set,  as  it  was  called,  carried 
things  by  storm.  They  were  for  the  most  part 
very  rich  people,  and  they  spent  their  wealth  with 
a  lavish  freedom  that  their  lineage  saved  from  the 
least  charge  of  vulgarity.  No  display  of  money  is 
ever  considered  vulgar  when  lineage  is  behind  it. 
If  you  are  unblessed  with  good  descent  you  must 
air  your  silver  dishes  cautiously  and  heed  well  the 
multiplicity  of  your  viands ;  for  though  your  cook 
possess  an  Olympian  palate  and  your  butler  be 
the  ex-adherent  of  a  king,  the  accusation  of  bad 
taste  hangs  like  a  sword  of  threat  in  your  banquet 
hall. 

Among  all  the  winsome  debutantes  of  that  sea- 
son, Pauline  Van  Corlear  was  the  most  comely. 
She  had  a  sparkling  wit,  too,  that  was  at  times 
mercilessly  acute.  Most  of  the  young  friends 
with  whom  she  had  simultaneously  "  come  out " 
were  heiresses  of  no  mean  consideration ;  but 
Pauline  was  so  poor  that  an  aunt  would  present 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.         17 

her  with  a  few  dozens  of  gloves,  a  cousin  would 
donate  to  her  five  or  six  fresh  gowns,  or  perhaps 
one  still  more  distant  in  kinship  would  supply  her 
with  boots  and  bonnets.  The  girl  sensitively 
shrank,  at  first,  from  receiving  these  gifts;  but 
her  plaintive,  faded  mother,  with  her  cough  and 
querulous  temper,  would  always  eagerly  insist 
upon  their  acceptance. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Van  Corlear  would 
say,  in  her  treble  pipe  of  a  voice,  while  she  rocked 
to  and  fro  the  great  chair  that  bore  her  wasted, 
shawl-wrapped  body  —  "of  course  it  is  quite  right 
that  your  blood-relations  should  come  forward. 
They  all  have  plenty  of  money,  and  it  would  be 
dreadful  if  they  let  you  go  out  looking  shabby 
and  forlorn.  For  my  part,  I  'm  only  surprised 
that  they  don't  do  more." 

"  I  expect  nothing  from  them,  mamma,"  Pauline 
would  say,  a  little  sadly. 

"  Expect,  my  dear  ?  Of  course  you  don't.  But 
that  doesn't  alter  the  obligation  on  their  part. 
Now  please  do  not  be  obstinate ;  you  know  my 
neuralgia  always  gets  worse  when  you're  obsti- 
nate. You  are  very  pretty — yes,  a  good  deal 
prettier  than  Gertie  Van  Horn  or  Sallie  Pough- 
keepsie,  with  all  their  millions  —  and  I  have  n't  a 
doubt  that  before  the  winter  is  over  you  '11  have 


18          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

done  something  really  handsome  for  yourself.  If 
you  have  n't,  it  will  be  your  own  fault." 

Pauline  clearly  understood  that  to  do  something 
handsome  for  herself  meant  to  marry  a  rich  man. 
From  a  tender  age  she  had  been  brought  up  to  be- 
lieve that  this  achievement  was  the  goal  of  all 
hopes,  desires  and  aims.  Everybody  expected  it 
of  her,  as  she  grew  prettier  and  prettier;  every- 
body hinted  or  prophesied  it  to  her  long  before 
she  "came  out."  The  little  contracted  and  con- 
ventional world  in  which  it  was  her  misfortune  to 
breathe  and  move,  had  forever  dinned  it  into  her 
ears  until  she  had  got  to  credit  it  as  an  article 
of  necessitous  faith.  There  are  customs  of  the 
Orient  that  shock  our  Western  intelligences  when 
we  read  of  women  placidly  accepting  their  tyran- 
nies; but  no  almond-eyed  daughter  of  pasha  or 
vizier  ever  yielded  more  complaisantly  to  harem- 
discipline  than  Pauline  now  yielded  to  the  cold, 
commercial  spirit  of  the  marriage  decreed  for  her. 

She  was  popular  in  society,  notwithstanding  her 
satiric  turn.  She  always  had  a  nosegay  for  the 
German,  and  a  partner  who  had  pre-engaged  her. 
It  was  not  seldom  that  she  went  to  a  ball  quite 
laden  with  the  floral  boons  of  male  admirers. 
Among  these  latter  was  her  third  cousin,  then  a 
gentleman  of  thirty,  named  Courtlandt  Beekman. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         19 

Courtlandt  had  been  Pauline's  friend  from  child- 
hood. She  had  always  been  so  fond  of  him  that 
it  had  never  occurred  to  her  to  analyze  her  fond- 
ness now,  when  they  met  under  the  festal  glare  of 
chandeliers  instead  of  in  her  mother's  plain,  dull 
sitting-room.  Nor  had  it  ever  occurred  to  any  of 
her  relations  to  matrimonially  warn  her  against 
Courtlandt.  He  was  such  a  nice,  quiet  fellow; 
naturally  he  was  good  to  his  little  cousin ;  he  was 
good  to  everybody,  and  now  that  Pauline  had 
grown  up  and  begun  to  go  to  places,  his  devotion 
took  a  brotherly  form.  Of  course  he  was  poor, 
and,  if  sensible,  would  marry  rich.  He  had  been 
going  about  for  an  age  in  "  that  other  set."  He 
knew  the  Briggs  girls  and  the  Snowe  girls,  and  all 
the  parvenu  people  who  had  been  ruling  at  assem- 
blies and  dancing-classes  during  the  dark  interreg- 
num. Perhaps  he  would  marry  a  Briggs  or  a 
Snowe.  If  he  did,  it  would  be  quite  proper.  He 
was  Courtlandt  Beekman,  and  his  name  would 
sanctify  nearly  any  sort  of  Philistine  bride.  But 
no  one  ever  dreamed  of  suspecting  that  he  might 
want  to  marry  the  cousin,  twelve  years  his  junior, 
who  had  sat  on  his  knee  as  a  school-girl,  munch- 
ing the  candies  he  used  to  bring  her  and  often 
pelting  him  with  childish  railleries  at  the  same 
ungrateful  moment. 


20         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

In  person  Courtlandt  was  by  no  means  prepos- 
sessing. He  had  a  tall,  brawny  figure,  and  a  long, 
sallow  face,  whose  unclassic  irregularities  might 
have  seemed  dull  and  heavy  but  for  the  brown 
eyes,  lucid  and  variant,  that  enlivened  it.  He  was 
a  man  of  few  words,  but  his  silences,  though  some- 
times important,  were  never  awkward.  No  one 
accused  him  of  stupidity,  but  no  one  had  often 
connected  him  with  the  idea  of  cleverness.  He 
produced  the  impression  of  being  a  very  close  ob- 
server, you  scarcely  knew  why.  Possibly  it  was 
because  you  felt  confident  that  his  silences  were 
not  mentally  vacuous.  He  had  gone  among  the 
gay  throngs  almost  since  boyhood ;  if  he  had  not  so 
persistently  mingled  with  ladies  (and  in  the  main 
very  sweet  and  cultured  ones,  notwithstanding  the 
denunciations  hurled  against  "that  other  set") 
it  is  probable  that  he  would  continuously  have 
merited  the  title  of  ungainly  and  graceless.  But 
ease  and  polish  had  come  to  him  unavoidably ;  he 
was  like  some  rough-shapen  vessel  that  has  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  the  gilder  and  decorator.  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  pick  a  flaw  in  his  man- 
ners, and  yet  his  manners  were  the  last  thing  that 
he  made  you  think  about.  He  was  in  constant 
social  demand ;  his  hosts  and  hostesses  forgot  how 
valuable  to  them  he  really  was ;  he  almost  stood 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         21 

for  that  human  miracle,  a  man  without  enemies. 
He  made  a  kind  of  becoming  background  for  nearly 
everybody ;  he  had  no  axe  to  grind,  no  ladder  to 
climb,  no  prize  to  win ;  he  stood  neither  as  debtor 
nor  creditor  toward  society;  he  was,  in  a  way, 
society  itself.  There  were  very  few  women  who 
did  not  enjoy  a  chat  with  him  a  deux;  and  in  all 
general  conversation,  though  his  attitude  was 
chiefly  that  of  listener,  the  talkers  themselves 
were  unaware  how  often  they  sought  the  response 
of  his  peculiar  serious  smile,  or  the  intelligent 
gleam  of  his  look. 

Pauline  had  not  been  greatly  troubled,  on  her 
advent  among  the  merry-makers,  with  that  timidity 
which  is  so  keen  a  distress  to  so  many  callow 
maids.  Bashfulness  was  not  one  of  her  weak 
points ;  she  had  borne  the  complex  stare  levelled 
at  her  in  drawing-rooms  with  excellent  aplomb. 
Still,  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  her  kinsman, 
Courtlandt,  had  comfortably  smoothed  her  path  to- 
ward an  individual  and  secure  foothold.  Those 
early  intervals,  dire  to  the  soul  of  every  novice 
like  herself,  when  male  adherence  and  escort  failed 
through  meagreness  of  acquaintanceship,  Court- 
landt had  filled  with  the  supporting  relief  of  his 
presence  and  his  attentions.  There  had  been  no 
mauvais  quart  d'heure  in  Pauline's  evenings ;  her 


22         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

cousin  had  loyally  saved  her  from  even  the  mo- 
mentary chagrin  of  being  left  without  a  courtier. 
Later  on,  his  kindly  vigilance  had  become  need- 
less; but  he  was  always  to  be  trusted,  neverthe- 
less, as  a  safeguard  against  possible  desertion. 

The  occasion  on  which  Mr.  Hamilton  Yarick  first 
saw  Pauline  was  at  a  ball  given  in  the  February 
of  her  first  season,  two  full  mouths  after  she  had 
modestly  emerged  with  her  little  sisterhood  of 
rosebud  damsels.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  ball, 
given  in  a  stately  and  lovely  house  adjacent  to 
the  Park,  and  by  a  lady  now  old  and  wrinkled,  who 
had  held  her  own,  forty  years  ago,  as  a  star  in  our 
then  limited  firmament  of  fashion.  The  dancers, 
among  whom  was  her  fair  and  smiling  grand- 
daughter of  eighteen,  chased  the  jolly  hours  in  a 
spacious  apartment,  brilliant  with  prismatic  can- 
delabra and  a  lustrous  floor  of  waxed  wood.  The 
rosy-and-white  frescoes  on  the  ceiling,  the  silver- 
fretted  delicacy  of  frieze  and  cornice,  the  light, 
pure  blues  and  pinks  of  tapestries,  the  airy  and 
buoyant  effects  in  tint  and  symmetry,  made  the 
whole  quick-moving  throng  of  revellers  appear  as 
if  the  past  had  let  them  live  again  out  of  some 
long-vanished  French  court-festival. 

"  These  young  people  only  need  powdered  heads 
to  make  it  look  as  if  Louis  Quinze  were  entertain- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         23 

ing  us  in  dead  earnest,"  said  Mr.  Varick,  with  his 
high-keyed,  nonchalant  voice.  He  addressed  an 
elderly  matron  as  he  spoke,  but  he  gave  a  covert 
glance  at  Pauline,  to  whom  he  had  just  received, 
through  request,  the  honor  of  a  presentation. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  in  very  dead  earnest  if  he 
did,"  said  Pauline,  speaking  up  with  a  gay  laugh ; 
and  Mr.  Varick  laughed,  too,  relishing  her  pert 
joke.  He  paid  her  some  gallant  compliments  as 
he  stood  at  her  side,  though  she  thought  them  stiff 
and  antique  in  sound,  notwithstanding  the  foreign 
word  or  phrase  that  was  so  apt  to  tinge  them. 
She  found  Mr.  Varick  pleasantest  when  he  was 
asking  after  her  sick  mother,  and  telling  her  what 
New  York  gayeties  used  to  be  before  the  beginning 
of  his  long  European  absence.  He  had  a  tripping, 
lightsome  mode  of  speech,  that  somehow  suited 
the  jaunty  upward  sweep  of  his  white  mustache. 
He  would  oscillate  both  hands  in  a  graceful  style 
as  he  talked.  Elegant  superficiality  flowed  from 
him  without  an  effort.  It  needed  no  keenness  to 
tell  that  he  had  been  floating  buoyantly  on  the  top 
crest  of  the  wave,  and  well  amid  its  froth,  all  his 
life.  He  made  no  pretense  to  youth ;  he  would, 
indeed,  poke  fun  at  his  own  seniority,  with  a  re- 
lentless and  breezy  sort  of  melancholy. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  French  poet  named 


24          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

Francois  Villon,"  he  said  to  Pauline,  dropping  into 
a  seat  at  her  side  that  some  departure  had  just  left 
vacant.  "  No,  I  dare  say  you  've  not.  He  was  a 
dreadful  chap  —  a  kind  of  polisson,  as  we  say,  but 
he  wrote  the  most  charming  ballads ;  I  believe  he 
was  hanged  afterward,  or  ought  to  have  been  — I 
forget  which.  One  of  his  songs  had  a  sad  little 
refrain  that  ran  thus:  'OH  sont  les  neiges  d'antan?' 
— *  Where  are  the  snows  of  last  year  ? '  you  know. 
Well,  mademoiselle  —  no,  Miss  Pauline,  I  mean  — 
that  line  runs  in  my  head  to-night.  Ca  me  gene  — 
it  bothers  me.  I  want  to  have  the  good  things  of 
youth  back  again.  I  come  home  to  New  York,  and 
find  my  snow  all  melted.  Everything  is  changed. 
I  feel  like  a  ghost  —  a  merry  old  ghost,  however. 
Tenez  —  just  wait  a  bit.  Do  you  think  those  nice 
young  gentlemen  will  have  anything  to  say  to  you 
after  they  have  seen  you  a  little  longer  in  my  com- 
pany ?  I  'm  sure  I  have  frightened  four  or  five  of 
them  away.  They're  asking  each  other,  now,  who 
is  that  old  £pourvantail  —  what  is  the  word  ?  — 
scarecrow.  Ah!  voild  —  here  comes  one  much 
bolder  than  the  rest.  I  will  have  mercy  on  him  — 
and  retire.  But  before  my  depart  I  have  a  favor 
to  request  of  you.  You  will  give  mamma  my 
compliments?  You  will  tell  her  that  I  shall  do 
myself  the  honor  of  calling  upon  her?  Thanks, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         25 

very  much.  We  shall  be  ghosts  together,  poor 
mamma  and  I ;  you  need  not  be  chez  vous  when  I 
call,  unless  you  are  quite  willing  —  that  is,  if  you 
are  afraid  of  ghosts." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not,"  laughed  Pauline.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  them,  Mr.  Varick." 

"  That  is  delightful  for  you  to  say  !  "  her  com- 
panion exclaimed.  "  It  means  that  you  will  listen 
for  a  little  while  to  our  spectral  conversation  and 
not  find  it  too  ennuyeuse.  How  very  kind  of  you ! 
Ah !  we  old  follows  are  sometimes  very  grateful 
for  a  few  crumbs  of  kindness !  " 

"  You  can  have  a  whole  loaf  from  me,  if  you 
want,"  said  Pauline,  with  an  air  of  girlish  diver- 
sion. 

Not  long  afterward  she  declared  to  her  cousin, 
Courtlandt:  "I  like  the  old  gentleman  ever  so 
much,  Court.  He 's  a  refreshing  change.  You 
New  York  men  are  all  cut  after  the  same  pat- 
tern." 

"  I  'm  afraid  he  's  cut  with  a  rather  crooked  scis- 
sors," said  Courtlandt,  who  indulged  in  a  sly  epi- 
gram of tener  than  he  got  either  credit  or  discredit 
for  doing. 

"  Oh,"  said  Pauline,  as  if  slowly  understanding. 
"  You  mean  he  is  French,  I  suppose." 

"  Quite  French,  they  report." 


26         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

Mr.  Varick  made  his  promised  visit  upon  Pauline 
and  her  mother  sooner  than  either  of  them  ex- 
pected. Mrs.  Van  Corlear  was  rather  more  ill 
than  usual,  on  the  day  he  appeared,  and  almost 
the  full  burden  of  the  ensuing  conversation  fell 
upon  her  daughter. 

The  next  evening,  at  the  opera,  he  dropped  into 
a  certain  box  where  Pauline  was  seated  with  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie.  On  the  following  day 
Pauline  received,  anonymously,  an  immense  basket 
of  exquisite  flowers.  Twice  again  Mr.  Varick 
called  upon  her  mother,  in  the  charmless  up- 
stairs sitting-room  of  their  boarding-house.  As 
it  chanced,  Pauline  was  not  at  home  either  time. 

An  evening  or  two  afterward  she  returned  at 
about  eleven  o'clock  from  a  theatre-party,  to  find 
that  her  mother  had  not  yet  retired.  Mrs.  Van 
Corlear's  usual  bed-time  was  a  very  exact  ten 
o'clock. 

The  mother  and  daughter  talked  for  a  little 
while  together  in  low  tones.  When  Pauline  went 
into  her  own  chamber  that  night,  her  face  was 
pale  and  her  heart  was  beating. 

At  a  great  afternoon  reception  which  took  place 
two  days  later,  Courtlandt,  who  made  his  ap- 
pearance after  five  o'clock,  coming  up  town  from 
the  law-office  in  which  he  managed  by  hard  work 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.          27 

to  clear  a  yearly  two  thousand  dollars  or  so,  said 
to  his  cousin,  with  a  sharpened  and  rather  inquisi- 
tive look : 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  You  don't  seem  to  be  in 
good  spirits." 

Pauline  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 
It  was  a  great  crush,  and  people  were  babbling 
all  about  them.  "  There 's  something  I  want  to 
speak  of,"  the  girl  presently  said,  in  a  lingering 
way. 

A  kind  of  chill  stole  through  Courtlandt's  veins 
at  this,  —  he  did  not  know  why ;  he  always  after- 
ward had  a  lurking  credence  in  the  truth  of  pre- 
sentments. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

Pauline  told  him  what  it  was.  He  grew  white 
as  he  listened,  and  a  glitter  crept  into  his  eyes, 
and  brightened  there. 

"  You  're  not  going  to  do  it  ?  "  he  said,  when  she 
had  finished. 

She  made  no  answer.  She  had  some  flowers 
knotted  in  the  bosom  of  her  walking-dress,  and 
she  now  looked  down  at  them.  They  were  not 
the  flowers  Mr.  Varick  had  sent;  they  were  a 
bunch  bestowed  by  Courtlandt  himself  at  a  little 
informal  dance  of  the  previous  evening,  where  the 
cotillon  had  had  one  pretty  floral  figure.  She 


28         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

regarded  their  petals  through  a  mist  of  unshed 
tears,  now,  though  her  cousin  did  not  know  it. 

He  repeated  his  question,  bending  nearer.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  sun  in  heaven  must  have 
stopped  moving  until  she  made  her  answer. 

"  You  know  what  mamma  is,  Court,"  she  fal- 
tered. 

'•  Yes,  I  do.  She  has  very  false  views  of  many 
things.  But  you  have  not.  You  can't  be  sold 
without  your  own  consent." 

"  Let  us  go  away  from  here  together,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  These  rooms  are  so  hot  and  crowded 
that  I  can  hardly  breathe  in  them." 

He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  they  pushed  their  way 
forth  into  a  neighboring  hall  through  one  of  the 
broad  yet  choked  doorways. 

Outside,  in  Fifth  Avenue,  the  February  twilight 
had  just  begun  to  deepen.  The  air  was  mild 
though  damp ;  a  sudden  spell  of  clemency  had 
enthralled  the  weather,  and  the  snow,  banked  in 
crisp  pallor  along  the  edge  of  either  sidewalk, 
would  soon  shrink  and  turn  sodden.  At  the  far 
terminus  of  every  western  street  burned  a  haze  of 
dreamy  gold  light  where  the  sun  had  just  dropped 
from  view,  but  overhead  the  sky  had  that  treach- 
erous tint  of  vernal  amethyst  which  is  so  often  a 
delusive  snare  to  the  imprudent  truster  of  our 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         29 

mutable  winters.  Against  this  vapory  mildness 
of  color  the  house-tops  loomed  sharp  and  dark ;  a 
humid  wind  blew  straight  from  the  south ;  big  and 
small  sleighs  were  darting  along,  with  the  high, 
sweet  carillons  of  their  bells  now  loud  and  now 
low;  through  the  pavements  that  Courtlandt  and 
Pauline  were  treading,  great  black  spots  of  damp- 
ness had  slipped  their  cold  ooze,  to  tell  of  the  thaw 
that  lay  beneath.  Yesterday  the  sky  had  been  a 
livid  and  frosty  azure,  and  the  sweep  of  the  arctic 
blast  had  had  the  cut  of  a  blade  in  it ;  to-day  the 
city  was  steeped  in  a  languor  of  so  abrupt  a  coming 
that  you  felt  its  peril  while  you  owned  its  charm. 
Courtlandt  broke  the  silence  that  had  followed 
their  exit.  He  spoke  as  if  the  words  forced  them- 
selves between  his  shut  teeth. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  you  really  mean  to  do  it," 
he  said,  watching  Pauline's  face  as  she  moved  on- 
ward, looking  neither  to  right  nor  left.  "  It  would 
be  horrible  of  you !  He  is  over  sixty  if  he 's  a 
day,  besides  having  been  mixed  up  in  more  than 
one  scandal  with  women  over  there  in  Paris.  I 
think  it  must  be  all  a  joke  on  your  part.  If  it  is, 
I  wish  for  God's  sake  that  you  'd  tell  me  so,  Paul- 
ine ! " 

"  It  is  n't,"  she  said.  She  turned  her  face  to  his, 
then,  letting  him  see  how  pale  and  sad  it  was. 


30          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

"  I  must  do  it,  Court,"  she  went  on.  "  It 's  like  a 
sort  of  fate,  forcing  and  dragging  me.  I  had  no 
business  to  mention  mamma  in  the  matter,  I  sup- 
pose. She  could  n't  make  me  consent,  of  course, 
although,  if  I  did  not,  her  lamentations  would  take 
a  most  distracting  form  for  the  next  year  or  two. 
No ;  it 's  not  she  ;  it 's  myself.  I  don't  live  in  a 
world  where  people  licid  very  high  views  of  matri- 
mony. And  I  hate  the  life  I  'm  living  now.  The 
other  would  be  independence,  even  if  bought  at 
a  dear  price.  And  how  many  girls  would  envy 
me  my  chance  ?  What  am  I  at  present  but  a  mere 
pensioner  on  my  wealthy  relatives?  I  can't  stay 
in ;  I  've  started  with  the  whirl,  and  I  can't  stop. 
Everybody  whom  I  know  is  dancing  along  at  the 
same  pace.  If  I  declined  invitations;  if  I  didn't  do 
as  all  the  other  girls  are  doing ;  if  I  said  '  No,  I  'in 
poor  and  can't  afford  it,' — then  mamma  would  begin 
tuning  her  harp  and  sending  up  her  wail.  And  I 
should  be  bored  to  death,  besides."  Here  Pauline 
gave  a  hollow  laugh,  and  slightly  threw  back  her 
head.  "  Good  Heavens !  "  she  continued,  "  there 's 
nothing  strange  in  it.  I  've  been  brought  up  to 
expect  it ;  I  knew  it  would  probably  come,  and  I 
was  taught,  prepared,  warned,  to  regard  it  when  it 
did  come  in  only  one  way.  If  he  had  n't  been  old 
he  might  have  been  shocking.  What  a  piercing 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         31 

pertinence  there  is  to  my  case  in  that  little  pro- 
verb, '  Beggars  must  n't  be  choosers ! '  I  'in  a 
beggar,  you  know :  ask  Aunt  Cynthia  Poughkeep- 
sie  if  she  does  n't  think  I  am.  And  he  's  quite  the 
reverse  of  shocking,  truly.  His  hair  may  be  rather 
white,  but  his  teeth  are  extremely  so,  and  I  think 
they  're  indigenous,  aboriginal ;  I  hope  if  they  're 
not  he  will  never  tell  me,  anyway." 

She  gave  another  laugh,  as  mirthless  as  if  the 
spectre  of  herself  had  framed  it.  She  had  turned 
her  face  away  from  him  again,  and  slightly  quick- 
ened her  walk. 

"  You  mean,  then,  that  your  mind  is  really 
made  up !  "  said  Gourtlandt,  with  an  ire,  a  fierce- 
ness, that  she  had  never  seen  in  him  before.  "  You 
mean  that  for  a  little  riches,  a  little  power,  you  '11 
turn  marriage,  that  should  be  a  holy  usage,  into 
this  wicked  mockery  ?  " 

Pauline  bit  her  lip.  Such  a  speech  as  this  from 
her  equanimous  cousin  was  literally  without  prece- 
dent. She  felt  stung  and  guilty  as  she  said,  with 
cool  defiance,  — 

"  Who  holds  marriage  as  a  holy  usage  ?  I  've 
never  seen  anyone  who  did." 

"I  do ! "  he  asseverated,  with  clouding  face. 
"  You  do,  too,  Pauline  in  your  heart." 

"  I  have  n't  any  heart.     They  're  not  worn  now- 


32          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

adays.  They  're  out  of  fashion.  We  carry  purses 
instead  —  when  we  can." 

"  I  think  1  will  tell  Mr.  Varick  you  said  that,'* 
he  answered,  measuring  each  word  grimly. 

"  Oh,  do ! "  Pauline  exclaimed.  A  weary  and 
mournful  bravado  filled  her  tones.  "  How  he 
would  laugh!  Do  you  fancy  he  thinks  I  care  a 
button  for  him?  Why,  nearly  the  first  sentence 
he  spoke  to  mamma  on  this  weighty  subject  con- 
cerned the  number  of  yearly  thousands  he  was 
willing  to  settle  upon  me." 

"  So,  it  is  all  arranged  ?  " 

"  It  only  awaits  your  approval." 

"  It  can  only  get  my  contempt ! " 

"  That  is  too  bad.  I  thought  you  would  antici- 
pate some  of  the  charming  little  dinners  I  intend 
to  give.  He  has  dreadful  attacks  of  the  gout,  I 
have  learned,  and  sometimes  I  '11  ask  you  to  pre- 
side with  me  in  his  vacant  chair.  That  is,  if 
you"  — 

But  he  would  hear  no  more.  He  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  her.  He  bitterly  told  himself  that 
her  heart  was  ice,  and  not  worth  wasting  a  thought 
upon.  But  he  wasted  a  good  many  that  night,  and 
days  afterward. 

Whether  ice  or  not,  it  was  a  very  heavy  heart 
as  Pauline  went  homeward.  Just  in  proportion  as 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         33 

the  excuses  for  her  conduct  were  ready  on  her 
lips,  so  they  were  futile  to  appease  her  conscience. 

And  yet  she  exulted  in  one  justifying  circum- 
stance, as  she  herself  named  it.  "  If  I  loved  any- 
body —  Court,  or  anybody  else,"  she  reflected,  "  I 
never  could  do  it !  But  I  don't.  It 's  going  to  make 
a  great  personage  of  me.  I  want  to  find  out  how  it 
feels  to  be  a  great  personage.  I  want  to  try  the 
new  sensation  of  not  wearing  charity  gloves." 
.  .  .  She  had  almost  a  paroxysm  of  nervous 
tears,  alone  in  her  own  room,  a  little  later.  That 
evening  Mr.  Varick  once  more  presented  him- 
self. .  .  . 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  he  jumped  into  a  cab 
which  he  had  kept  waiting  an  interminable  time, 
and  lighted  a  very  fragrant  cigar  as  he  was  being 
driven  off. 

"  Elle  est  belle  a  faire  peur"  he  muttered  aloud. 
And  the  next  moment  a  thought  passed  through 
his  mind  which  would  resemble  this,  if  put  into 
English,  though  he  always  thought  in  French:  — 

"  I  will  write  to  Madeleine  to-morrow,  and  send 
her  ten  thousand  francs.  That  will  end  every- 
thing—  and  if  the  gout  spares  me  five  years 
longer  I  shan't  see  Paris  while  it  does." 

He  had  not  by  any  means  come  home  to  die.  He 
had  said  so  because  it  had  a  neat  sound,  throwing  a 


34         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

perfume  of  sentiment  about  his  return.  And  he 
was  always  fond  of  the  perfume  of  sentiment.  In 
reality  he  had  come  home  to  look  after  his  affairs, 
which  had  grown  burdensomely  prosperous,  and 
then  sail  back  with  all  the  decorous  haste  allow- 
able. 

Perhaps  he  had  come  home  with  a  few  other 
trifling  motives.  But  of  eveiy  conceivable  motive, 
he  had  not  come  with  one.  That  one  was  —  to 
marry.  And  yet  he  had  to-night  arranged  his 
alliance  (satisfactorily  on  both  sides,  it  was  to  be 
hoped)  with  Miss  Pauline  Van  Corlear. 

He  leaned  back  in  the  dimness  of  the  speeding 
cab,  and  reflected  upon  it.  His  reflections  made 
him  laugh,  and  as  he  laughed  his  lip  curled  up 
below  his  white  mustache  and  showed  his  white 
teeth,  with  the  good,  dark  cigar  between  them  — 
the  teeth  of  which  Pauline  had  said  that  if  they 
were  false  she  did  not  wish  to  know  it. 


II. 

marriage  was  a  quiet  one,  and  took  place 
in  the  early  following  spring.  Pauline  made 
a  very  lovely  bride,  but  as  this  comment  is  deliv- 
ered upon  a  most  ample  percentage  of  all  the 
brides  in  Christendom,  it  is  scarcely  worth  being 
recorded.  The  whole  important  constituency  of 
her  kindred  were  graciously  pleased  at  the  match, 
with  a  single  exception.  This  was  Courtlandt 
Beekman,  who  managed  to  be  absent  in  Washing- 
ton at  the  time  of  the  wedding.  Pauline's  pres- 
ents were  superb;  the  Poughkeepsies,  Amsterdams, 
and  all  the  rest,  came  forth  in  expensive  sanction 
of  the  nuptials.  After  a  brief  Southern  tour  the 
wedded  pair  took  up  their  abode  in  the  newly 
appointed  Bond  Street  mansion.  Mrs.  Van  Corlear, 
already  ensconced  there,  welcomed  them  with  as 
beaming  a  smile  as  her  invalid  state  would  permit. 
Pauline,  as  she  kissed  her,  wondered  if  those  same 
bloodless  lips  would  ever  have  any  further  excuse 
for  querulous  complaint.  It  was  pathetic  to  note 
the  old  lady's  gratified  quiver  while  her  thin  hand 

35 


3C          THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

was  gallantly  imprinted,  as  well,  by  the  kiss  of  her 
new  sori-in-law.  She  had  surely  reached  the  goal 
of  all  her  earthly  hopes.  She  had  a  silken  chair  to 
rock  in,  and  a  maid  as  her  special  attendant,  and  a 
doctor  to  be  as  devoted  and  exorbitant  as  he  chose. 
Her  neuralgia,  her  asthma,  her  rheumatism,  her 
thousand  and  one  ailments,  were  henceforth  to 
wreak  their  dolorous  inflictions  among  the  most 
comfortable  and  sumptuous  surroundings.  And 
yet,  as  if  in  mockery  of  her  new  facilities  for 
being  the  truly  aristocratic  invalid,  this  poor  lady, 
after  a  few  weeks  of  the  most  encouraging  oppor- 
tunity, forsook  all  its  commodious  temptations  and 
quietly  died  in  her  bed  of  a  sudden  heart-seizure. 

On  the  occasion  of  her  death  Pauline's  husband, 
who  had  thus  far  been  scrupulously  polite,  made  a 
remark  which  struck  his  wife  as  brutal,  and  roused 
her  resentment.  He  was  a  good  deal  more  brutal, 
in  a  glacial,  exasperating  way,  as  Pauline's  anger 
manifested  itself.  But  shortly  after  the  funeral  he 
was  prostrated  by  a  sharp  attack  of  his  gout,  dur- 
ing which  Pauline  nursed  him  with  forgiving  assi- 
duity. 

The  young  wife  was  now  in  deep  mourning. 
Her  husband's  attack  had  been  almost  fatal.  His 
recovery  was  slow,  and  a  voyage  to  Europe  was 
urgently  recommended  by  his  physicians.  They 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         37 

sailed  in  latter  June.  Courtlandt  was  among  those 
who  saw  Pauline  off  in  the  steamer.  He  looked, 
while  taking  her  hand  in  farewell,  as  if  he  felt 
very  sorry  for  her.  Pauline  seemed  in  excellent 
spirits;  her  black  dress  became  her;  she  was  so 
blonde  that  you  saw  the  gold  hair  before  you 
marked  the  funereal  garb ;  and  then  she  had  her 
smile  very  ready,  which  had  always  won  nearly 
everybody.  Perhaps  only  Courtlandt,  in  his  wise, 
grave  taciturnity,  saw  just  how  factitious  the  smile 
was. 

Mr.  Varick  quite  recovered  from  this  attack. 
Pauline's  letters  said  so.  They  had  soon  left  Lon- 
don, near  which  the  Cunarder  had  brought  them, 
and  gone  to  Paris;  Mr.  Varick  was  feeling  so 
much  better  from  the  voyage,  and  had  always  felt 
so  at  home  in  Paris.  For  several  months  after- 
ward Pauline's  letters  were  sent  oversea  in  the 
most  desultory  and  irregular  fashion.  And  what 
they  contained  by  no  means  pleased  their  recipi- 
ents. She  appeared  to  tell  nothing  about  herself; 
she  was  always  writing  of  the  city.  As  if  one 
could  n't  read  of  the  Tuileries  and  Notre  Dame  in 
a  thousand  books  !  As  if  one  had  n't  been  there 
oneself!  Why  did  she  not  write  how  they  were 
yetting  on  together?  That  was  the  one  imperative 
stimulus  for  curiosity  among  all  Pauline's  friends 


38         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

and  kindred — how  they  were  getting  on  together. 
All,  we  should  add,  except  Courtlandt,  who  seemed 
to  manifest  no  curiosity  of  whatever  sort.  Of 
course  one  could  not  write  and  ask  her,  point 
blank !  What  was  one  to  do  ?  Did  rambling 
essays  upon  the  pleasures  of  a  trip  to  Versailles, 
or  the  recreation  of  a  glimpse  of  Fontainebleau, 
mean  that  Mr.  Varick  had  or  had  not  broken  loose 
in  a  mettlesome  manner  from  his  latter-day  matri- 
monial traces  ? 

"We  are  prepared  for  anything,  you  know," 
Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  Pauline's  aunt  and  former 
patron,  had  once  rather  effusively  said  to  Court- 
landt. "Now  that  Hamilton  Varick  is  well,  he 
might  be  larking  over  there  to  any  dreadful  ex- 
tent. And  Pauline,  from  sheer  pride,  might  n't  be 
willing  to  tell  us." 

"  Very  cruel  of  her,  certainly,"  Courtlandt  had 
responded,  laconic  and  not  a  little  sarcastic  as 
well. 

But  as  months  went  by,  Pauline's  correspondents 
forgot,  in  the  absorption  engendered  by  more  na- 
tional incentives  for  gossip,  the  unsatisfactory  tone 
of  her  letters.  Once,  however,  Pauline  wrote  that 
she  wished  very  much  to  return,  but  that  her  hus- 
band preferred  remaining  in  Paris. 

"  He  won't  come  back  !  "  immediately  rose  the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         39 

cry  on  this  side  of  the  water.  "  He  's  keeping  her 
over  there  against  her  will !  How  perfectly  hor- 
rible !  Well,  she  deserves  it  for  marrying  a  vieux 
galant  like  that !  Poor  Pauline  !  With  her  looks 
she  might  have  married  somebody  of  respectable 
age.  But  she  would  n't  wait.  She  was  so  crazy 
to  make  her  market,  poor  girl !  It 's  to  be  hoped 
that  he  doesn't  beat  her,  or  anything  of  that 
frightful  sort ! " 

One  auditor  of  these  friendly  allusions  would 
smile  at  them  with  furtive  but  pardonable  scorn. 
This  auditor  was  Courtlandt ;  and  he  remembered 
how  the  same  compassionate  declaimers  had  been 
the  first  to  applaud  Pauline's  astounding  be- 
trothal. 

After  two  years  of  absence  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Varick,  certain  rumors  drifted  to  Amer- 
ica. This  or  that  person  had  seen  them  in  Paris. 
Pauline  was  still  pretty  as  ever,  but  living  quite 
retired.  It  was  said  she  had  taken  to  books  and 
general  mental  improvement.  No  one  ever  saw 
her  with  her  husband.  She  never  alluded  to  him 
in  any  way.  There  were  queer  stories  about  his 
goings  on.  It  was  hard  to  verify  them  ;  Paris  was 
so  big,  and  so  many  men  were  always  doing  such 
fanny  things  there. 

The  conclave  on  these  shores  heard  and  sym- 


40          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

pathetically  shuddered.  The  "  new  set "  had  now 
healed  all  its  old  feuds.  New  York  society  was  in 
a  condition  of  amicably  cemented  factions.  The 
Briggs  girls  and  the  Snowe  girls  had  married  more 
or  less  loftily,  and  had  proved  to  the  Amsterdams 
and  others  that  they  were  worthy  of  peaceable 
affiliation.  "  Poor  Pauline  Varick  "  began  to  be  a 
phrase,  though  a  somewhat  rare  one,  for  without 
anybody  actually  wakening  to  the  fact,  she  had 
been  living  abroad  four  whole  years.  And  then, 
without  the  least  warning,  came  the  news  that  she 
was  a  widow. 

She  was  universally  expected  home,  then,  after 
the  tidings  that  her  husband  was  positively  dead 
had  been  confirmed  beyond  the  slightest  doubt. 
But  perhaps  for  this  reason  Pauline  chose  to  re- 
main abroad  another  year.  When  she  did  return 
her  widowhood  was  an  established  fact.  Her  New 
York  clientele  had  grown  used  to  it.  Mr.  Varick 
had  left  her  all  his  fortune ;  she  was  a  very 
wealthy  young  widow.  Aggressive  queries  re- 
specting his  death,  or  his  deportment  during  the 
foreign  sojourn  that  preceded  his  death,  were  now 
quite  out  of  order.  She  had  buried  him,  as  she 
had  married  him,  decently  and  legally.  He  slept 
in  Pore  la  Chaise,  by  his  own  ante  mortem  request. 
No  matter  what  sort  of  a  life  he  had  led  her ;  it 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.         41 

was  nobody's  business.  She  returned  home,  two 
years  later,  to  take  a  high  place  and  hold  a  high 
head.  Those  merciful  intervening  years  shielded 
her  from  a  multitude  of  stealthy  interrogatories. 
She  did  not  care  to  be  questioned  much  regarding 
her  European  past  as  the  wife  of  Mr.  Varick,  and 
she  soon  contrived  to  make  it  plain  that  she  did 
not.  There  was  no  dissentient  voice  in  the  ver- 
dict that  she  had  greatly  changed.  And  in  a 
physical  sense  no  one  could  deny  that  she  had 
changed  for  the  better. 

Her  figure,  which  had  before  been  quite  too 
thin  despite  its  pliant  grace,  was  now  rounded  into 
soft  and  charming  curves.  Her  gray  eyes  sparkled 
less  often,  but  they  glowed  with  a  steadier  light 
for  perhaps  this  reason  ;  they  looked  as  if  more  of 
life's  earnest  actualities  had  been  reflected  in  them. 
Her  face,  with  its  chiselled  features  all  blending 
to  produce  so  high-bred  and  refined  an  expression, 
rarely  broke  into  a  smile  now,  but  some  unex- 
plained fascination  lay  in  its  acquired  seriousness, 
that  made  the  smile  of  brighter  quality  and  deeper 
import  when  it  really  came.  She  wore  her  copious 
and  shining  hair  in  a  heavy  knot  behind,  and  let  it 
ripple  naturally  toward  either  pure  temple,  instead 
.of  having  it  bush  low  down  over  her  forehead  in  a 
misty  turmoil,  as  previously.  Her  movements,  her 


42         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

walk,  her  gestures,  all  retained  the  volatile  brisk- 
ness and  freedom  they  had  possessed  of  old ;  there 
was  not  even  the  first  matronly  hint  about  her  air, 
and  yet  it  was  more  self-poised,  more  emphatic, 
more  womanly. 

"  I  really  must  move  out  of  this  dreadful  Bond 
Street,"  she  said  to  Courtlandt,  rather  early  in  the 
conversation  which  took  place  between  them  on 
the  day  of  their  first  meeting.  "  I  think  I  could 
endure  it  for  some  time  longer  if  that  immense 
tailor-shop  had  not  gone  up  there  at  the  Broadway 
corner,  where  such  a  lovely,  drowsy  old  mansion 
used  to  stand.  Yes,  I  must  let  myself  be  compli- 
antly swept  further  up  town.  There  is  a  kind  of 
Franco-German  tavern  just  across  the  way  that 
advertises  a  'regular  dinner' — whatever  that  is  — 
from  twelve  o'clock  till  three,  every  day,  at  twenty- 
five  cents." 

"  I  see  you  have  n't  forgotten  our  national  cur- 
rency," said  Courtlandt,  with  one  of  his  inscrutable 
dispositions  of  countenance. 

Pauline  tossed  her  head  in  a  somewhat  French 
way.  "  I  have  forgotten  very  little  about  my  own 
country,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  glad  to  get  back  to  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very.  I  want  to  take  a  new  view  of  it 
with  my  new  eyes." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         43 

"  You  got  a  new  pair  of  eyes  in  Europe  ?  " 

"  I  got  an  older  pair."  She  looked  at  him  ear- 
nestly for  a  moment.  "  Tell  me,  Court,"  she  went 
on,  "  how  is  it  that  I  find  you  still  unmarried  ?  " 

He  shifted  in  his  chair,  crossing  his  legs.  "  Oh," 
he  said,  "  no  nice  girl  has  made  me  an  offer." 

Pauline  laughed.  "  As  if  she  'd  be  nice  if  she 
had  I  Do  you  remember  how  they  used  to  say  you 
would  marry  in  the  other  set  ?  Is  there  another 
set  now?"  . 

"  There  is  a  number  of  fresh  ones.  New  York 
is  getting  bigger  every  day,  you  know.  Young 
men  are  being  graduated  from  college,  young 
girls  from  seminaries.  I  forget  just  what  special 
set  you  mean  that  you  expected  me  to  marry 
into." 

"  No,  you  don't ! "  cried  Pauline,  with  soft  posi- 
tiveness.  She  somehow  felt  herself  getting  quietly 
back  into  the  old  easy  terms  with  Courtlandt. 
His  sobriety,  that  never  echoed  her  gay  moods, 
yet  always  seemed  to  follow  and  enjoy  them,  had 
readdressed  her  like  a  familiar  though  alienated 
friend.  "  You  recollect  perfectly  how  Aunt 
Cynthia  Poughkeepsie  used  to  lift  that  Roman 
nose  of  hers  -and  declare  that  she  would  never 
allow  her  Sallie  to  know  those  fast  Briggs  and 
Snowe  girls,  who  had  got  out  because  society  had 


44         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

been  neglected  by  all  the  real  gentry  in  town  for 
a  space  of  at  least  five  years  ?  " 

Courtlandt  gave  one  of  bis  slow  nods.  "  Oh, 
3res,  I  recollect.  Aunt  Cynthia  was  quite  wrong. 
She 's  pulled  in  her  horns  since  then.  The 
Briggses  and  the  Snowes  were  much  too  clever 
for  her.  They  were  always  awfully  well-mannered 
girls,  too,  besides  being  so  jolly.  They  needed 
her,  and  they  coolly  made  use  of  her,  and  of  a 
good  many  revived  leaders  like  her,  besides.  Most 
of  the  good  men  like  them ;  that  was  their  strong 
point.  It  was  all  very  well  to  say  they  had  n't  had 
ancestors  who  knew  Canal  Street  when  it  was  a 
canal,  and  shot  deer  on  Twenty-Third  Street ;  but 
that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  No  matter  how  their 
parents  had  made  their  money,  they  knew  how  to 
spend  it  like  swells,  and  they  had  pushed  them- 
selves into  power  and  were  not  to  be  elbowed  out. 
The  whole  fight  soon  died  a  natural  death.  They 
and  their  supporters  are  nearly  all  married  now 
and  married  pretty  well." 

"And  you  didn't  marry  one  of  them,  Court?" 

Courtlandt  gave  a  slight,  dry  cough.  "  I  'm 
under  the  impression,  Pauline,"  he  said,  "that  I 
did  not." 

"  How  long  ago  it  all  seems ! "  she  murmured, 
drooping  her  blond  head  and  fingering  with  one 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         45 

hand  at  a  button  on  the  front  of  her  black  dress. 
"  It *s  only  four  years,  and  yet  I  fancy  it  to  be 
a  century."  She  raised  her  head.  "  Then  the 
Knickerbockers,  as  we  used  to  call  them,  no  longer 
rule?" 

Courtlandt  laughed  gravely.  "  I  don't  know 
that  they  ever  did,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  they  used  to  give  those  dancing-classes, 
you  know,  where  nobody  was  ever  admitted  unless 
he  or  she  had  some  sort  of  patrician  claim.  Don't 
you  recollect  how  Mrs.  Schenectady,  when  she 
gave  Lillie  a  Delmonico  Blue-Room  party  (do 
they  have  Delmonico  Blue-Room  parties,  now?), 
instructed  old  Grace  Church  Brown  to  challenge 
at  the  Fourteenth  Street  entrance  (where  he  would 
always  wait  as  a  stern  horror  for  the  coachmen  of 
the  arriving  and  departing  carriages)  anybody 
who  did  not  present  a  certain  mysterious  little 
card  at  the  sacred  threshold?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Courtlandt  ruminatively. 

"And  how,"  continued  Pauline,  "that  demo- 
cratic Mrs.  Vanderhoff  happened  to  bring,  on  this 
same  evening,  some  foreign  gentleman  who  had 
dined  with  her,  and  whom  she  meant  to  present 
with  an  apologetic  flourish  to  the  Schenectadys, 
when  suddenly  the  corpulent  sentinel,  Brown, 
desired  from  her  escort  the  mysterious  card,  and 


46         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

finding  it  not  to  be  forthcoming  sent  a  messenger 
upstairs?  And  how  Mr.  Schenectady  presently  ap- 
peared and  informed  Mrs.  Vanderhoff,  with  a  cool 
snobbery  which  had  something  sublime  about  it, 
that  he  was  exceedingly  sorry,  but  the  rule  had 
been  passed  regarding  the  admission  of  any  non- 
invited  guest  to  his  entertainment?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  remember  it  all,"  said  Courtlandt. 
"  Schenectady  behaved  like  a  cad.  Nobody  is 
half  so  strict,  now-a-days,  nor  half  so  grossly  un- 
civil. You'll  find  society  very  much  changed, 
if  you  go  out.  You  '11  see  people  whose  names 
you  never  heard  before.  I  sometimes  think  there 's 
nothing  required  to  make  one's  self  a  great  swell 
now-a-days  except  three  possessions,  all  metallic  — 
gold,  silver,  and  brass." 

"How  amusing!"  said  Pauline.  "And  yet," 
she  suddenly  added,  with  a  swift  shake  of  the 
head,  "I'm  sure  it  will  never  amuse  me!  No, 
Court,  I  have  grown  a  very  different  person  from 
the  ignorant  girl  you  once  saw  me ! "  She  low- 
ered her  voice  here,  and  regarded  him  with  a 
tender  yet  impressive  fixity.  "  When  I  look  back 
upon  it  all  now,  and  think  how  I  used  to  hold  the 
code  of  living  which  those  people  adopt  as  some- 
thing that  I  must  respect  and  even  reverence,  I 
can  scarcely  believe  that  the  whole  absurd  comedy 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         47 

did  not  happen  in  some  other  planet.  You  don't 
know  how  much  I  've  been  through  since  you  met 
me  last.  I'm  not  referring  to  my  husband.  It 
is  n't  pleasant  for  me  to  talk  about  that  part  of  the 
past.  I  would  n't  say  even  this  much  to  any  one 
except  you ;  but  now  that  I  have  said  it,  I  '11  say 
more,  and  tell  you  that  I  endured  a  good  deal  of 
solid  trial,  solid  humiliation,  solid  heart-burning. 
.  .  .  There,  let  us  turn  that  page  over,  you  and 
myself,  and  never  exchange  another  word  on  the 
subject.  You  were  perfectly  right;  the  thing  I 
did  was  horrible,  and  I  've  bought  my  yards  of 
sackcloth,  my  bushels  of  ashes.  If  it  were  to  do 
over  again,  I  'd  rather  beg,  starve,  die  in  the  very 
gutter.  There  's  no  exaggeration,  here ;  I  have 
grown  to  look  on  this  human  destiny  of  ours  with 
such  utterly  changed  vision — I  've  so  broadened  in 
a  mental  and  moral  sense,  that  my  very  identity  of 
the  past  seems  as  if  it  were  something  I  'd  moulted, 
like  the  old  feathers  of  a  bird.  Feathers  make  a 
happy  simile ;  I  was  lighter  than  a  feather,  then  — 
as  light  as  thistledown.  I  had  no  principles ;  I 
merely  had  caprices.  I  had  no  opinions  of  my 
own ;  other  people's  were  handed  to  me  and  I 
blindly  accepted  them.  My  chief  vice,  which  was 
vanity,  I  mistook  for  the  virtue  of  self-respect, 
and  kept  it  carefully  polished,  like  a  little  pocket- 


48          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

mirror  to  look  at  one's  face  in.  I  was  goaded  by 
an  actually  sordid  avarice,  and  I  flattered  myself 
that  it  was  a  healthy  matrimonial  ambition.  I 
swung  round  in  a  petty  orbit  no  larger  than  a 
saucer's  rim,  and  imagined  it  to  have  the  scope 
of  a  star's.  I  chattered  gossip  with  fops  of  both 
sexes,  and  called  it  conversation.  I  bounced  and 
panted  through  the  German  for  two  hours  of  a 
night,  and  declared  it  to  be  enjoj^ment.  I  climbed 
up  to  the  summit  of  a  glaring  yellow-wheeled 
drag  and  sat  beside  some  man  whose  limited  wit 
was  entirely  engrossed  by  the  feat  of  driving  four 
horses  at  once ;  and  because  poor  people  stopped 
to  sigh,  and  silly  ones  to  envy,  and  sensible  ones 
to  pity,  as  we  rumbled  up  the  Avenue  in  brazen 
ostentation,  I  considered  myself  an  elect  and 
exceptional  being.  Of  course  I  must  have  had 
some  kind  of  a  better  nature  lying  comatose  be- 
hind all  this  placid  tolerance  of  frivolity.  Other- 
wise the  change  never  would  have  come ;  for 
the  finest  seed  will  fail  if  the  soil  is  entirely 
barren." 

"  You  have  taken  a  new  departure,  with  a  ven- 
geance," said  Courtlandt.  He  spoke  in  his  usual 
tranquil  style.  He  considered  the  sketch  Pauline 
had  just  drawn  of  her  former  self  very  exagge- 
rated and  prejudiced.  He  had  his  own  idea  of 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         49 

what  she  used  to  be.  He  was  observing  her  with 
an  excessive  keenness  of  scrutiny,  now,  under- 
neath his  reposeful  demeanor.  But  he  aired  none 
of  his  contradictory  beliefs.  It  is  possible  that  he 
had  never  had  a  downright  argument  with  any 
fellow-creature  in  his  life.  Somehow  the  brief 
sentence  which  he  had  just  spoken  produced  the 
impression  of  his  having  said  a  great  deal  more 
than  this.  It  was  always  thus  with  the  man ;  by 
reason  of  some  unique  value  in  his  silence  any 
terse  variation  of  it  took  a  reflected  worth. 

Pauline's  hands  were  folded  in  her  lap ;  she  was 
looking  down  at  them  with  a  musing  air.  She 
continued  to  speak  without  lifting  her  gaze. 
"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  the  reformatory  impulse 
must  have  been  latent  all  that  time.  I  can't  tell 
just  what  quickened  it  into  its  present  activity. 
But  I  am  sure,  now,  that  it  will  last  as  long  as  I 
do." 

"  What  are  the  wonders  it  is  going  to  accom- 
plish?" 

"  Don't  satirize  it,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up 
at  him  with  a  start.  "  It  is  a  power  for  good." 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  so  !  Courtlandt,  I  've  come  back  home 
to  live  after  my  own  fashion.  I  've  come  back 
with  an  idea,  a  theory.  Of  course  a  good  many 


50         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

people  will  laugh  at  me.  I  expect  a  certain 
amount  of  ridicule.  But  I  shall  despise  it  so 
heartily  that  it  will  not  make  me  swerve  a  single 
inch.  I  intend  to  be  very  social  —  yes,  enormously 
so.  My  drawing-rooms  shall  be  the  resort  of  as 
many  friends  as  I  can  bring  together  —  but  all  of 
a  certain  kind." 

"Pray,  of  what  kind?" 

"  You  shall  soon  see.  They  are  to  be  men  and 
women  of  intellectual  calibre ;  they  are  to  be 
workers  and  not  drones ;  they  are  to  be  thinkers, 
writers,  artists,  poets,  scholars.  They  can  come, 
if  they  please,  in  abnormal  coats  and  unconven- 
tional gowns ;  I  sha'n't  care  for  that.  They  can 
be  as  poor  as  church  mice,  as  unsuccessful  as 
talent  nearly  always  is,  as  quaint  in  manner  as 
genius  incessantly  shows  itself."  Here  Pauline 
rose,  and  made  a  few  eloquent  little  gestures  with 
both  hands,  while  she  moved  about  the  room  in  a 
way  that  suggested  the  hostess  receiving  imagi- 
nary guests.  "  I  mean  to  organize  a  salon,"  she 
continued  —  "a  veritable  salon.  I  mean  to  wage 
a  vigorous  crusade  against  the  aimless  flippancy 
of  modern  society.  I  've  an  enthusiasm  for  my 
new  undertaking.  Wait  till  you  see  how  valiantly 
I  shall  carry  it  out." 

"  Am  I  to  understand,"  said  Courtlandt,  with- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         51 

out  the  vestige  of  a  smile,  "  that  you  mean  to 
begin  by  cutting  all  your  former  friends?" 

She  glanced  at  him  as  if  with  a  suspicion  of 
further  satire.  But  his  sedate  mien  appeared  to 
reassure  her.  "  Cutting  them  ?  "  she  repeated. 
"  No  ;  of  course  not." 

"  But  you  will  not  invite  them  to  your  salon?" 

She  tossed  her  head  again.  "  They  would  be 
quite  out  of  place  there.  They  are  not  in  earnest 
about  anything.  Everybody  whom  I  shall  have 
must  be  in  earnest.  I  intend  to  lay  great  stress 
upon  that  one  requirement.  It  is  to  be  a  passport 
of  admission.  My  apartments  are  to  be  at  once 
easy  and  difficult  of  entrance.  I  shall  not  object 
to  the  so-called  aristocratic  class,  although  if  any 
applicant  shall  solicit  my  notice  who  is  undoubt- 
edly a  member  of  this  class,  I  shall  in  a  certain 
way  hold  the  fact  as  disqualifying ;  it  shall  be  re- 
membered against  him;  if  I  admit  him  at  all  I 
shall  do  so  in  spite  of  it  and  not  because  of  it. 
—  Is  my  meaning  quite  clear  on  this  point?" 

"  Oh,  excessively,"  said  Courtlandt ;  "  you  could 
not  have  made  it  more  so.  All  ladies  and  gentle- 
men are  to  be  received  under  protest." 

He  let  one  of  his  odd,  rare  laughs  go  with  the 
last  sentence,  and  for  this  reason  Pauline  merely 
gave  him  a  magnificent  frown  instead  of  visiting 


52         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

upon  him  more  wrathful  reprimand.  At  the  same 
time  she  said :  "  It 's  a  subject,  Court,  on  which 
I  am  unprepared  for  trivial  levity.  If  you  can't 
treat  it  with  respect  I  prefer  that  you  should  warn 
me  in  time,  and  I  will  reserve  all  further  explana- 
tions of  my  project." 

He  gave  a  slight,  ambiguous  cough.  "  If  I  seem 
disrespectful  you  must  lay  it  to  my  ignorance." 

"  I  should  be  inclined  to  do  that  without  your 
previous  instructions."  Here  she  regarded  him 
with  a  commiseration  that  he  thought  delicious; 
it  was  so  palpably  genuine ;  she  so  grandly  over- 
looked the  solemn  roguery  that  ambuscaded  itself 
behind  his  humility. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  n't  learned  the 
vocabulary  of  radicalism,  so  to  speak.  I  think  I 
know  the  fellows  you  propose  to  have ;  they  wear 
long  hair,  quite  often,  and  big  cloaks  instead  of 
top-coats,  and  collars  low  enough  in  the  neck  to 
show  a  good  deal  of  wind-pipe.  As  for  the  women, 
they"- 

"  It  is  perfectly  immaterial  to  me  how  any  of 
them  may  dress ! "  she  interrupted,  with  majestic 
disapproval.  "  I  ought  to  be  very  sorry  for  you, 
Courtlandt,  and  I  am.  You  're  clever  enough  not 
to  let  yourself  rust,  like  this,  all  your  days.  I 
don't  believe  you  've  ever  read  one  of  the  works 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         53 

of  the  great  modern  English  thinkers.  You're 
sluggishly  satisfied  to  go  jogging  along  in  the 
same  old  ruts  that  humanity  has  worn  deep  for 
centuries.  Of  course  you  never  had,  and  never 
will  have,  the  least  spark  of  enthusiasm.  You  're 
naturally  lethargic;  if  a  person  stuck  a  pin  into 
you  I  don't  believe  you  would  jump.  But  all  this 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  n't  try  and  live  up  to 
the  splendid  advancements  of  your  age.  When 
my  constituents  are  gathered  about  me  — when  I 
have  fairly  begun  my  good  work  of  centralizing 
and  inspiriting  my  little  band  of  sympathizers  — 
when  I  have  defined  in  a  practical  way  my  in- 
tended opposition  to  the  vanities  and  falsities  of 
existing  creeds  and  tenets,  why,  then,  I  will  let 
you  mingle  with  my  assemblages  and  learn  for 
yourself  how  you  've  been  wasting  both  time  and 
opportunity." 

"  That  is  extremely  good  of  you,"  murmured 
Courtlandt  imperturbably.  "I  supposed  your  doors 
were  to  be  closed  upon  me  for  good  and  all." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  shall  insist,  indeed,  that  you  drop 
in  upon  us  very  often.  I  shall  need  your  presence. 
You  are  to  be  my  connecting  link,  as  it  were." 

"  How  very  pleasant !  You  have  just  told  me 
that  I  was  benighted.  Now  I  find  myself  a  con- 
necting link." 


54          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"Between  culture  and  the  absence  of  it.  I 
have  no  objection  to  your  letting  the  giddy  and 
whimsical  folk  perceive  what  a  vast  deal  they  are 
deprived  of.  Besides,  I  should  like  you  to  be  my 
first  conversion  —  a  sort  of  bridge  by  which  other 
converts  may  cross  over  into  the  happy  land." 

"  You  are  still  most  kind.  I  believe  that  bridges 
are  usually  wooden.  No  doubt  you  feel  that  you 
have  made  a  wise  selection  of  your  material.  May 
I  be  allowed  to  venture  another  question?  " 

"  Yes  —  if  it  is  not  too  impudent." 

She  was  watching  him  with  her  head  a  little  on 
one  side,  now,  and  a  smile  struggling  forth  from 
her  would-be  serious  lips.  She  was  recollecting 
how  much  she  had  always  liked  him,  and  con- 
sidering how  much  she  would  surely  like  him 
hereafter,  in  this  renewal  of  their  old  half-cousinly 
and  half-flirtatious  intimacy.  She  was  thinking 
what  deeps  of  characteristic  drollery  slept  in  him 
—  with  what  a  quiet,  funny  sort  of  martyrdom  he 
had  borne  her  little  girlish  despotisms,  before  that 
sudden  marriage  had  wrought  so  sharp  a  rupture 
of  their  relations,  and  how  often  he  had  forced 
her  into  unwilling  laughter  by  the  slow  and  almost 
sleepy  humor  with  which  he  had  successfully 
parried  some  of  her  most  vigorous  attacks. 

"  I  merely   wanted  to  ask  you,"  he  now  said, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         55 

"where  all   these   extraordinary   individuals   are 
to  be  found." 

"  Ah,  that  is  an  important  question,  certainly," 
she  said,  with  a  solemn  inclination  —  or  at  least  the 
semblance  of  one.  "  I  intend  to  collect  them." 

"  Good   gracious !     You   speak   of   them   as  if 
they  were  minerals  or  mummies  that  you  were 
going  to  get  together  for  a  museum.     I  have  no 
doubt  that  they  will  be  curiosities,  by  the  bye." 
"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  them  so." 
"Are  they  to  be  imported?" 
"  Oh,  no.     That  will  not  be  necessary." 
"  I  see ;  they  're  domestic  products." 
"  Quite  so.     In  this  great  city  —  filled  with  so 
much  energy,  so  much  re-action  against  the  narrow 
feudalisms   of   Europe  —  I    am   very   certain   of 
finding  them."     She  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
seemed  to  employ  a  tacit  interval  for  the  accumu- 
lation of   what  she  next  said.     "I  shall  not  be 
entirely  unassisted  in  my  search,  either." 

A  cunning  twinkle  became  manifest  in  the 
brown  eyes  of  her  listener.  He  drew  a  long 
breath.  "  Ah !  now  we  get  at  the  root  of  the 
matter.  There  's  a  confederate  —  an  accomplice, 
so  to  speak." 

"  I  prefer  that  you  should  not  allude  to  my 
assistant  in  so  rude  a  style.  Especially  as,  in  the 


56         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

first  place,  you  have  never  met  him,  and,  in  the 
second,  he  is  a  person  of  the  most  remarkable 
gifts." 

"  Is  there  any  objection  to  my  asking  his  name  ? 
Or  is  it  still  a  dark  mystery  ?  " 

She  laughed  at  this,  as  if  she  thought  it  highly 
diverting.  "My  dear  cousin,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  how  absurd  you  can  be  at  a  pinch  !  What  on 
earth  should  make  the  name  of  Mr.  Kindelon  a 
dark  mystery  ?  " 

"  Um-ni-m.     Somebody  you  met  abroad,  then  ?  " 

"  Somebody  I  met  on  the  steamer,  while  return- 
ing." 

"  I  see.     An  Englishman  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  of  Irish  birth.  He  has  lived  in 
New  York  for  a  number  of  years.  He  knows  a 
great  many  of  the  intellectual  people  here.  He 
has  promised  to  help  me  in  my  efforts.  He  will 
be  of  great  value." 

Courtlandt  rose.  "So  are  your  spoons,  Pau- 
line," he  said  rather  gruffly,  not  at  all  liking  the 
present  drift  of  the  information.  "  Take  my  ad- 
vice, and  lock  them  up  when  you  give  your  first 
salon." 


III. 

TDAULINE  had  not  been  long  in  her  native 
city  again  before  she  made  the  discovery  that 
a  great  deal  was  now  socially  expected  of  her. 
The  news  of  her  return  spread  abroad  with  a  ra- 
pidity more  suggestive  of  bad  than  of  good  tidings ; 
her  old  acquaintances,  male  and  female,  flocked  to 
the  Bond  Street  house  with  a  most  loyal  prompti- 
tude. The  ladies  came  in  glossy  coupes  and  dig- 
nified coaches,  not  seldom  looking  about  them  with 
dilletante  surprise  at  the  mercantile  glare  and 
tarnish  of  this  once  neat  and  seemly  crossway, 
as  they  mounted  Mrs.  Varick's  antiquated  stoop. 
Most  of  them  were  now  married ;  they  had  made 
their  market,  as  Pauline's  deceased  mother  would 
have  said,  and  it  is  written  of  them  with  no  wan- 
ton harshness  that  they  had  in  very  few  cases 
permitted  sentiment  to  enact  the  part  of  salesman. 
There  is  something  about  the  fineness  of  our 
republican  ideals  (however  practice  may  have 
determinedly  lowered  and  soiled  them)  that  makes 
the  mere  worldly  view  of  marriage  a  special 

57 


58         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

provocation  to  the  moralist.  Regarded  as  a  con- 
venient mutual  barter  in  Europe,  there  it  some- 
how shocks  far  less ;  the  wrong  of  the  grizzled 
bridegroom  winning  the  young,  loveless,  but 
acquiescent  bride  bears  a  historic  stamp;  we  recall, 
perhaps,  that  they  have  always  believed  in  that 
kind  of  savagery  over  there ;  it  is  as  old  as  their 
weird  turrets  and  their  grim  torture-chambers. 
But  with  ourselves,  who  broke  loose,  in  theory  at 
least,  from  a  good  many  tough  bigotries,  the 
sacredness  of  the  marriage  state  presents  a  much 
more  meagre  excuse  for  violation.  It  was  not 
that  the  husbands  of  Pauline's  wedded  friends 
were  in  any  remembered  instance  grizzled,  how- 
ever ;  they  were  indeed,  with  few  exceptions,  by 
many  years  the  juniors  of  her  own  dead  veteran 
spouse;  but  the  influences  attendant  upon  their 
unions  with  this  or  that  maiden  had  first  con- 
cerned the  question  of  money  as  a  primary  and 
sovereign  force,  and  next  that  of  name,  prestige, 
or  prospective  elevation.  These  young  brides  had 
for  the  most  part  sworn  a  much  more  sincere 
fidelity  to  the  carriages  in  which  they  now  rode, 
and  the  pretty  or  imposing  houses  in  which  they 
dwelt,  than  to  the  important,  though  not  indispen- 
sable, human  attachments  of  such  prized  com- 
modities. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         59 

Pauline  found  them  all  strongly  monotonous ; 
she  could  ill  realize  that  their  educated  simpers 
and  their  regimental  sort  of  commonplace  had 
ever  been  potent  to  interest  her.  One  had  to  pay 
out  such  a  small  bit  of  line  in  order  to  sound 
them ;  one's  plummet  so  soon  struck  bottom,  as  it 
were.  She  found  herself  silently  marvelling  at 
the  serenity  of  their  contentment ;  no  matter  how 
gilded  were  the  cages  in  which  they  made  their 
decorous  little  trills,  what  elegance  of  filigree 
could  atone  for  the  absence  of  space  and  the 
paucity  of  perches  ? 

The  men  whom  she  had  once  known  and  now 
re-met  pleased  her  better.  They  had,  in  this 
respect,  the  advantage  of  their  sex.  Even  when 
she  condemned  them  most  heartily  as  shallow  and 
fatuous,  their  detected  admiration  of  her  beauty 
or  of  their  pleasure  in  her  company  won  for  them 
the  grace  of  a  pardoning  afterthought.  They  were 
still  bachelors,  and  some  of  them  more  maturely 
handsome  bachelors  than  when  she  had  last 
looked  upon  them.  They  had  niceties  and  fe- 
licities of  attitude,  of  intonation,  of  tailoring,  of 
boot  or  glove,  to  which,  without  confessing  it, 
she  was  still  in  a  degree  susceptible. 

But  she  did  not  encourage  them.  They  were 
not  of  her  new  world ;  she  had  got  quite  beyond 


60         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

them.  She  flattered  herself  that  she  always 
affected  them  as  being  gazed  down  upon  from 
rather  chilly  heights.  She  insisted  on  telling  her- 
self that  they  were  much  more  difficult  to  talk 
with  than  she  really  found  them.  This  was  one  of 
the  necessities  of  her  conversion ;  they  must  not 
prove  agreeable  any  longer ;  it  was  inconsequent, 
untenable,  that  they  should  receive  from  her  any- 
thing but  a  merely  hypocritic  courtesy.  She 
wanted  her  contempt  for  the  class  of  which  they 
were  members  to  be  in  every  way  logical,  and  so 
manufactured  premises  to  suit  its  desired  integrity. 
Meanwhile  she  was  much  more  entertaining  than 
she  knew,  and  treated  Courtlandt,  one  day,  with 
quite  a  shocked  sternness  for  having  informed  her 
that  these  male  visitors  had  passed  upon  her  some 
very  admiring  criticisms. 

"  I  have  done  my  best  to  behave  civilly,"  she 
declared.  "  I  was  in  my  own  house,  you  know, 
when  they  called.  But  I  cannot  understand  how 
they  can  possibly  like  me  as  they  no  doubt  used 
to  do !  I  would  much  rather  have  you  bring  me 
quite  a  contrary  opinion,  in  fact." 

"  If  you  say  so,"  returned  Courtlandt,  with  his 
inimitable  repose,  "I  will  assure  them  of  their 
mistake  and  request  that  they  correct  it." 

Pauline  employed  no  self-deception  whatever  in 


V 

THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW.         61 

the  acknowledgment  of  her  real  feelings  toward 
Courtlandt.  She  cherished  for  him  what  she  liked 
to  tell  herself  was  an  inimical  friendliness.  In  the 
old  days  he  had  never  asked  her  to  marry  him, 
and  yet  it  had  been  plain  to  her  that  under 
favoring  conditions  he  might  have  made  her  this 
proposal.  She  was  nearly  certain  that  he  no 
longer  regarded  her  with  a  trace  of  the  former 
tenderness.  On  her  own  side  she  liked  him  so 
heartily,  notwithstanding  frequent  antagonisms, 
that  the  purely  amicable  nature  of  this  fondness 
blurred  any  conception  of  him  in  the  potential 
light  of  a  lover. 

But,  indeed,  Pauline  had  resolutely  closed  her 
eyes  against  the  possibility  of  ever  again  receiving 
amorous  declaration  or  devotion.  She  had  had 
quite  enough  of  marriage.  Her  days  of  senti- 
ment were  past.  True,  they  had  never  actually 
been,  but  the  phantasmal  equivalent  for  them  had 
been,  and  she  now  determined  upon  not  replacing 
this  by  a  more  accentuated  experience.  Her  path 
toward  middle  life  was  very  clearly  mapped  out 
in  her  imagination ;  it  was  to  be  strewn  with 
nicely  sifted  gravel  and  bordered  by  formally 
clipped  foliage.  And  it  was  to  be  very  straight, 
very  direct;  there  should  be  no  bend  in  it  that 
came  upon  a  grove  with  sculptured  Cupid  and 


62         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

rustic  lounge.  The  "  marble  muses,  looking 
peace1'  might  gleam  now  and  then  through  its 
en  skirting  boskage,  but  that  should  be  all.  Pau- 
line had  read  and  studied  with  a  good  deal  of 
fidelity,  both  during  her  marriage  and  after  her 
^widowhood.  She  had  gone  into  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  the  development  of  thought  as 
some  women  go  into  the  intoxication  of  a  nervine. 
Her  methods  had  been  amateurish  and  desultory ; 
she  had  not  been  taught,  she  had  learned,  and 
hence  learned  ill.  "  The  modern  thinkers,"  as  she 
called  them,  delighted  her  with  their  liberality, 
their  iconoclasm.  She  was  in  just  that  receptive 
mood  to  be  made  an  extremist  by  their  doctrines, 
the  best  of  which  so  sensibly  warn  us  against 
extremes.  Her  husband's  memory,  for  the  sake 
of  decency  if  for  no  other  reason,  deserved  the 
reticence  which  she  had  shown  concerning  it.  He 
had  revealed  to  her  a  hollow  nature  whose  void 
was  choked  with  vice,  like  some  of  those  declivi- 
ties in  neglected  fields,  where  the  weed  and  the 
brier  run  riot.  The  pathos  of  her  position,  in  a 
foreign  land,  with  a  lord  whose  daily  routine  of 
misconduct  left  her  solitary  for  hours,  while  invit- 
ing her,  had  she  so  chosen,  to  imitate  a  course  of 
almost  parallel  license,  was  finally  a  cogent  incen- 
tive toward  that  change  which  ensued.  The 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         63 

whole  falsity  of  the  educational  system  which 
had  resulted  in  her  detested  marriage  was  slowly 
laid  bare  to  her  eyes  by  this  shocking  and  salient 
example  of  it. 

There  was  something  piteous,  and  yet  humorous 
as  well,  in  her  present  intellectual  state.  She  was 
a  young  leader  in  the  cause  of  culture,  without  a 
following.  She  believed  firmly  in  herself,  and  yet 
deceived  herself.  Much  in  the  world  that  it  was 
now  her  fixed  principle  to  shun  and  reprobate, 
she  liked  and  clung  to.  These  points  of  attraction 
were  mostly  superficialities,  it  is  true,  like  the 
fashion  of  clothes  or  the  conventionalism  of  ac- 
cepted social  customs.  But  even  these  she  had 
more  than  half  persuaded  herself  that  she  despised, 
and  when  she  observed  them  in  others  they  too 
often  blinded  her  to  attractions  of  a  less  flimsy 
sort.  She  had  verged  upon  a  sanguine  and  florid 
fanaticism,  and  was  wholly  unconscious  of  her 
peril.  Some  of  Courtlandt's  sober  comments  might 
effectually  have  warned  her,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
a  marked  contrary  influence.  This  was  repre- 
sented by  the  gentleman  whom  we  have  already 
heard  her  name  as  Mr.  Kindelon. 

She  had  been  presented  to  him  on  the  steamer 
during  her  recent  homeward  voyage,  by  an  ac- 
quaintance who  knew  little  enough  regarding  his 


64         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

antecedents.  But  Ralph  Kindelon  had  been  at 
once  very  frank  with  her.  This  was  the  most 
prominent  trait  that  usually  disclosed  itself  in 
him  on  a  first  acquaintance;  he  always  managed 
to  impress  you  by  his  frankness.  He  had  a  large 
head  set  on  a  large  frame  of  splendid,  virile  pro- 
portions. His  muscular  limbs  were  moulded 
superbly;  his  big  hands  and  feet  had  the  same 
harmony  of  contour,  despite  their  size  ;  his  grace 
of  movement  was  extraordinary,  considering  his 
height  and  weight ;  the  noble  girth  and  solidity  of 
chest  struck  you  as  you  stood  close  to  him  —  men 
found  it  so  substantially,  women  so  protectively, 
human.  A  kind  of  warmth  seemed  to  diffuse  it- 
self from  his  bodily  nearness,  as  if  the  pulse  of 
his  blood  must  be  on  some  exceptionally  liberal 
scale.  But  for  those  whom  he  really  fascinated 
his  real  fascinations  lay  elsewhere.  You  met 
them  in  the  pair  of  facile  dimples  that  gave  genial 
emphasis  to  his  sunny  smile ;  in  the  crisp,  coarse 
curl  of  his  blue-black  hair,  which  receded  at  either 
temple,  and  drooped  centrally  over  a  broad,  full 
brow ;  in  the  sensuous,  ample,  ruddy  mouth,  which 
so  often  showed  teeth  of  perfect  shape  and  un- 
flawed  purity,  and  was  shaded  by  a  mustache 
tending  to  chestnut  in  shade,  with  each  strong 
crinkled  liair  of  it  rippling  away  to  the  smooth- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         65 

sloping  cheeks ;  and  lastly  in  the  violet-tinted 
Irish  eyes,  whose  deep-black  lashes  had  a  beauti- 
ful length  and  gloss. 

Kindelon  spoke  with  a  decided  brogue.  It  was 
no  mere  Celtic  accent ;  it  was  the  pure  and  origi- 
nal parlance  of  his  native  island,  though  shorn  of 
those  ungrammatical  horrors  with  which  we  are 
prone  by  habit  to  associate  it.  His  English  was 
Irish,  as  one  of  his  own  countrymen  might  have 
said,  but  it  was  very  choice  and  true  English, 
nevertheless.  Well  as  he  spoke  it,  he  spoke  it 
immoderately,  even  exorbitantly,  when  the  mood 
was  upon  him,  and  the  mood  was  upon  him,  in  a 
loquacious  sense,  with  considerable  pertinacity. 
He  was  the  sort  of  man  concerning  whom  you 
might  have  said,  after  hearing  him  talk  three  min- 
utes or  so,  that  he  talked  too  much;  but  if  you 
had  listened  to  him  five  minutes  longer,  your 
modified  opinion  would  probably  have  been  that 
he  scarcely  talked  too  much  for  so  good  a  talker. 

It  has  been  chronicled  of  him  that  he  was  ex- 
tremely frank.  Before  he  had  enlivened  during 
more  than  an  hour,  for  Pauline,  the  awful  tedium 
of  an  Atlantic  voyage  in  winter,  she  discovered 
herself  to  be  in  a  measure  posted  concerning  his 
personal  biography.  His  parents  had  been  far- 
mers in  his  native  Ireland,  and  he  was  the  fourth 


66         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW. 

of  a  family  of  eleven  children.  At  the  age  of 
twelve  years  a  certain  benevolent  baronet,  whose 
tenant  his  father  was,  had  sent  him  to  school  in 
Dublin  with  a  view  toward  training  and  encour- 
aging a  natural  and  already  renowned  precocity. 
At  school  he  had  done  well  until  seventeen,  and  at 
seventeen  he  had  suddenly  found  himself  thrown 
on  the  world,  through  the  death  of  his  patron. 
After  that  he  had  revisited  his  somewhat  distant 
home  for  a  brief  term,  and  soon  afterward  had 
taken  passage  for  America,  aided  by  the  funds  of 
an  admiring  kinsman.  He  had  even  then  devel- 
oped evidence  of  what  we  call  a  knack  for  writ- 
ing. After  severe  hardships  on  these  shores,  he 
had  drifted  into  an  editorial  office  in  the  capacity 
of  printer.  This  had  been  a  godsend  to  him,  and 
it  had  fallen  from  the  skies  of  Chicago,  not  New 
York.  But  New  York  had  ultimately  proved  the 
theatre  of  those  triumphs  which  were  brilliant 
indeed  compared  with  the  humdrum  humility  of 
his  more  Western  pursuits.  Here  he  had  written 
articles  on  many  different  subjects  for  the  local 
journals ;  he  had  served  in  almost  every  drudging 
department  of  reportorial  work ;  he  had  risen, 
fallen,  risen,  and  at  last  risen  once  and  for  all, 
durably  and  honorably,  as  an  associate-editor  in 
a  popular  and  prominent  New  York  journal.  He 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         67 

told  Pauline  the  name  of  his  journal  —  the  New 
York  "  Asteroid  "  —  and  she  remembered  having 
heard  of  it.  He  laughed  his  affluent,  mellow  laugh 
at  this  statement,  as  though  it  were  the  most  amus- 
ing thing  in  the  world  to  find  an  American  who 
had  only  "  heard  of  "  the  New  York  "Asteroid." 

In  a  political  sense,  and  moreover  in  all  senses, 
lie  was  a  zealous  liberal.  How  he  had  managed  to 
scrape  together  so  remarkable  an  amount  of  knowl- 
edge was  a  mystery  to  himself.  Everything  that 
he  knew  had  been  literally  "  scraped  together ;  " 
the  phrase  could  not  be  apter  than  when  applied 
to  his  mental  store  of  facts.  He  read  with  an 
almost  phenomenal  swiftness,  and  his  exquisite 
memory  retained  whatever  touched  it  with  a  per- 
fection like  that  of  some  marvellously  sensitive 
photographic  agent.  He  never  forgot  a  face,  a 
book,  a  conversation.  He  hardly  forgot  a  single 
one  of  his  newspaper  articles,  and  their  name  was 
legion.  His  powers  just  stopped  short  of  genius, 
but  they  distinctly  stopped  there.  He  did  many 
things  well  —  many  things,  in  truth,  which  for  a 
man  so  hazardously  educated  it  was  surprising 
that  he  did  at  all.  But  he  did  nothing  superla- 
tively well.  It  was  the  old  story  of  that  fatal  facil- 
ity possessed  by  numbers  of  his  own  countrymen 
who  have  migrated  to  these  shores.  Perhaps  the 


68         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

one  quality  that  he  lacked  was  a  reflective  patience 
• —  and  this  is  declared  of  his  brains  alone,  having 
no  reference  to  his  moral  parts.  He  leaped  upon 
subjects,  and  devoured  them,  so  to  speak.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that  there  is  a  cerebral  digestion, 
which,  if  we  neglect  its  demands,  inevitably  entails 
upon  us  a  sort  of  dyspeptic  vengeance.  In  crush- 
ing the  fruit  with  too  greedy  a  speed  we  get  to 
have  a  blunted  taste  for  its  finer  flavor. 

Within  certain  very  decided  limits  he  had  thus  far 
made  an  easy  conquest  of  Pauline.  She  had  never 
before  met  any  one  whom  he  remotely  resembled. 
In  the  old  days  she  would  have  shrank  from  him 
as  being  unpatrician ;  now,  his  fleet  speech,  his 
entire  lack  of  repose,  his  careless,  unmodish, 
though  scrupulously  clean  dress,  all  had  for  her 
an  appealing  and  individual  charm.  After  parting 
on  the  arrival  in  New  York,  she  and  Kindelon  had 
soon  re-met.  He  bore  the  change  from  oceanic  sur- 
roundings admirably  in  Pauline's  eyes.  With  char- 
acteristic candor  he  told  her  that  he  had  come  back 
from  the  recent  visit  to  his  old  parents  in  Ireland 
(Pauline  knowing  all  about  this  visit,  of  course) 
to  find  himself  wofully  poor.  She  was  wondering 
whether  he  would  resent  the  offer  of  a  loan  if  she 
made  him  one,  when  he  suddenly  surprised  her  by 
a  statement  with  regard  to  "  present  funds,"  that 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         69 

certainly  bore  no  suggestion  of  poverty.  The 
truth  was,  he  lacked  all  proper  appreciation  of 
the  value  of  money.  Economy  was  an  unknown 
virtue  with  him ;  to  have  was  to  spend ;  he  was 
incapable  of  saving;  no  financial  to-morrow  ex- 
isted for  him,  and  by  his  careless  and  often  profuse 
charities  he  showed  the  same  absence  of  caution 
as  that  which  marked  all  other  daily  expendi- 
tures. 

In  her  immediate  purchase  of  a  new  residence 
she  consulted  with  him,  and  allowed  herself  to  be 
guided  by  his  counsels.  This  event  brought  them 
more  closely  together  for  many  days  than  they 
would  otherwise  have  been.  His  artistic  feeling 
and  his  excellent  taste  were  soon  a  fresh  surprise 
to  her.  "  I  begin  to  think,"  she  said  to  him  one 
day,  "  that  there  is  nothing  you  do  not  know." 

He  laughed  his  blithe,  bass  laugh.  "Oh,"  he 
said,  "  I  know  a  lot  of  things  in  a  loose,  haphazard 
way.  We  newspaper  men  can't  escape  general 
information,  Mrs.  Varick.  We  breathe  it  in,  na- 
turally, and  in  spite  of  ourselves." 

"  But  tell  me,"  Pauline  now  asked,  "  are  these 
other  people  to  whom  I  shall  soon  be  presented  as 
clever  as  you  are  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  merriment  twinkling  in 
his  light-tinted  eyes.  "  They  're  a  good  deal  clev- 


70         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

erer  —  some  of  them,"  he  replied.  "  They  could 
give  me  points  and  beat  me,  as  we  say  in  bil- 
liards." 

"  You  make  rne  very  anxious  to  know  them." 

"  When  you  talk  like  that  I  feel  as  if  I  might 
be  tempted  to  postpone  all  introductions  indefin- 
itely," he  responded.  He  spoke  with  sudden  seri- 
ousness, and  she  felt  that  mere  gallantry  had  not 
lain  at  the  root  of  this  answer. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Kindelon  and  Courtlandt 
soon  met  each  other  in  Pauline's  drawing-room. 
Courtlandt  was  quite  as  quiet  as  usual,  and  the 
Irishman  perhaps  rather  unwontedly  voluble. 
Pauline  thought  she  had  never  heard  her  new 
friend  talk  better.  He  made  his  departure  before 
her  cousin,  and  when  he  had  gone  Pauline  said, 
with  candid  enthusiasm: 

"  Is  n't  he  a  wonderful  man  ?  " 

"  Wonderful  ?  "  repeated  Courtlandt,  a  trifle 
drowsily. 

She  gave  him  a  keen  look,  and  bristled  visibly 
while  she  did  so.  "  Certainly  !  "  she  declared. 
"  No  other  word  just  expresses  him.  I  did  n't 
observe  you  very  closely,  Court,"  she  went  on, 
"  but  I  took  it  for  granted  that  you  were  being 
highly  interested.  I  can't  imagine  your  not 
being." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         71 

"  He  gave  me  a  kind  of  singing  in  the  ears,"  said 
Courtlandt.  "  I  've  got  it  yet.  He  makes  me 
think  of  one  of  those  factories  where  there  's  a 
violent  hubbub  all  the  time,  so  that  you  have  to 
speak  loud  if  you  want  to  be  heard." 

Pauline  was  up  in  arms,  then.  "  I  never  lis- 
tened to  a  more  scandalously  unjust  criticism  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  un- 
blushingly,  that  you  do  not  think  him  a  very  extra- 
ordinary person  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very,"  said  her  cousin. 

Pauline  gave  an  exasperated  sigh.  "  I  am  so 
used  to  you,"  she  said,  "  that  I  should  never  even 
be  surprised  by  you.  But  you  need  not  pretend 
that  you  can  have  any  except  one  truthful  opinion 
about  Mr.  Kindelon." 

"I  have  n't,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  's  what  they 
call  a  smart  newspaper  man.  A  Bohemian  chap, 
you  know.  They  're  nearly  all  of  them  just  like 
that.  They  can  talk  you  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind, 
if  you  only  give  them  a  chance." 

'•  I  don't  think  the  dumbness  required  any  great 
effort,  as  far  as  you  were  concerned !  "  declared 
Pauline,  with  sarcastic  belligerence. 

She  never  really  quarrelled  with  Courtlandt, 
because  his  impregnable  stolidity  made  such  a 
result  next  to  impossible.  But  she  was  now  so 


72         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW, 

annoyed  by  her  cousin's  slighting  comments  upon 
Kindeloii  that  her  treatment  was  touched  with  a 
decided  coolness  for  days  afterward. 

Meanwhile  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  had  un- 
dergone considerable  discomforting  surprise.  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie  had  been  prepared  to  find  Pauline 
changed,  but  by  no  means  changed  in  her  present 
way.  On  hearing  her  niece  express  certain  very 
downright  opinions  with  regard  to  the  life  which 
she  was  bent  upon  hereafter  living,  this  lady  at 
first  revealed  amazement  and  afterward  positive 
alarm. 

"  But  my  dear  Pauline,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot 
possibly  mean  that  you  intend  to  get  yourself 
talked  about  ?  " 

"  Talked  about,  Aunt  Cynthia  ?  I  don't  quite 
catch  your  drift,  really." 

"  Let  me  be  plainer,  then.  If  you  remain  out 
of  society,  that  is  one  thing.  I  scarcely  went  any- 
where, as  you  know,  for  ten  years  after  my  hus- 
band's death  —  not,  indeed,  until  Sallie  had  grown 
up  and  was  ready  to  come  out.  There  is  no  objec- 
tion, surely,  against  closing  one's  doors  upon  the 
world,  provided  one  desires  to  do  so  —  although  I 
should  say  that  such  a  step,  Pauline,  at  your  age, 
and  after  two  full  years  of  widowhood,  was  decid- 
edly a  mistake.  Still "  — 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.          73 

"  Pardon  me,  Aunt  Cynthia,"  Pauline  here 
broke  in.  "  Nothing  is  further  from  my  wish  than 
to  close  my  doors  upon  the  world.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  want  to  open  them  very  wide  indeed." 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  lifted  in  shocked  manner 
both  her  fair,  plump,  dimpled  hands.  She  was 
a  stout  lady,  with  that  imposing,  dowager-like 
effect  of  embonpoint  which  accompanies  a  natur- 
ally tall  and  majestic  stature.  Her  type  had  never 
in  girlhood  been  a  very  feminine  one,  and  it  now 
bordered  upon  masculinity.  Her  eyes  were  hard, 
calm  and  dark;  her  arching  nose  expressed  the 
most  serene  self-reliance.  She  was  indeed  a  per- 
son with  no  doubts ;  she  had,  in  her  way,  settled 
the  universe.  All  her  creeds  were  crystallized, 
and  each,  metaphorically,  was  kept  in  cotton,  as 
though  it  were  a  sort  of  family  diamond.  She  had 
been  a  Miss  Schenectady,  of  the  elder,  wealthy 
and  more  conspicuous  branch ;  it  was  a  most  no- 
table thing  to  have  been  such  a  Miss  Schenec- 
tady. She  had  married  a  millionaire,  and  also  a 
Poughkeepsie ;  this,  moreover,  was  something  very 
important  and  fine.  She  had  so  distinct  a  "posi- 
tion" that  her  remaining  out  of  active  participa- 
tion in  social  pursuits  made  no  difference  whatever 
as  regarded  her  right  to  appear  and  rule  whenever 
she  so  chose ;  it  had  only  been  necessary  for  her  to 


74          THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

lift  her  spear,  when  Miss  Sallie  required  her  chaper- 
onage,  and  the  Snowes  arid  Briggses  had  perforce 
to  tremble.  And  this  fact,  too,  she  held  as  a  pre- 
cious, delectable  prerogative. 

In  not  a  few  other  respects  she  was  satisfied 
regarding  herself.  There  was  nothing,  for  that 
matter,  which  concerned  herself  in  any  real  way, 
about  which  she  did  not  feel  wholly  satisfied. 
Her  environment  in  her  own  opinion  was  of  the 
best,  and  doubtless  in  the  opinion  of  a  good  many 
of  her  adherents  also.  From  the  necklace  of  an- 
cestral brilliants  which  she  now  wore,  sparkling  at 
ball  or  dinner,  on  her  generous  and  creamy  neck, 
to  the  comfortably-cushioned  pew  in  Grace  Church, 
where  two  good  generations  of  Poughkeepsies  had 
devoutly  sat  through  many  years  of  Sundays, 
she  silently  valued  and  eulogized  the  gifts  which 
fate  had  bestowed  upon  her. 

Pauline's  present  attitude  seemed  to  her  some- 
thing monstrous.  It  had  not  seemed  monstrous 
that  her  niece  should  give  the  bloom  and  vital 
purity  of  a  sweet  maidenhood  to  a  man  weighted 
with  years  and  almost  decrepid  from  past  excesses. 
But  that  she  should  seek  any  other  circle  of  ac- 
quaintance except  one  sanctioned  by  the  immiti- 
gable laws  of  caste,  struck  her  as  a  bewildering 
misdemeanor. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         75 

"  My  dear  Pauline,"  she  now  exclaimed,  "  you 
fill  me  with  a  positive  fear !  Of  course,  if  you 
shut  your  doors  to  the  right  people  you  open 
them  to  the  wrong  ones.  You  have  got  some 
strange  idea  abroad,  which  you  are  now  deter- 
mined to  carry  out  —  to  exploiter,  my  dear!  With 
your  very  large  income  there  is  hardly  any  dread- 
ful imprudence  which  you  may  not  commit. 
There  is  no  use  in  telling  me  that  the  people 
whom  one  knows  are  not  worth  knowing.  If  you 
have  got  into  that  curious  vein  of  thought  you 
have  no  remedy  for  it  except  to  refrain  from  all 
entertaining  and  all  acceptance  of  courtesies. 
But  I  beg,  Pauline,  that  you  will  hesitate  before 
you  store  up  for  yourself  the  material  of  ugly 
future  repentance.  Sallie  and  I  have  accepted  the 
Effinghams'  box  at  the  opera  to-night.  Those 
poor  Effinghams  have  been  stricken  by  the  death 
of  their  father;  it  was  so  sudden  —  he  was  sit- 
ting in  his  library  and  literally  fell  dead  —  he 
must  certainly  have  left  two  millions,  but  of  course 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  their  bereavement, 
and  it  was  so  kind  of  them  to  remember  us. 
They  know  that  I  have  always  wanted  a  prosce- 
nium, and  that  there  are  no  prosceniums,  now,  to 
be  had  for  love  or  money.  I  have  sent  our  box  in 
the  horse-shoe  to  cousin  Kate  Ten  Eyck ;  she  is  so 


76          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW, 

wretchedly  cramped  in  her  purse,  you  know,  and 
still  has  Lulu  on  her  hands,  and  will  be  so  grate- 
ful—  as  indeed  she  wrote  me  quite  gushingly  that 
she  was,  this  very  afternoon.  Now,  Pauline,  won't 
you  go  with  us,  my  dear  ?  " 

Pauline  went.  A  noted  prima  donna  sang, 
lured  by  an  immense  nightly  reward  to  disclose 
her  vocal  splendors  before  American  audiences. 
But  her  encompassment,  as  is  so  apt  to  be  the 
case  here,  was  pitiably  mediocre.  She  sang  with 
a  presentable  contralto,  a  passable  baritone,  an 
effete  basso,  and  an  almost  despicable  tenor.  The 
chorus  was  anachronistic  in  costume,  sorry  in 
voice,  and  mournfully  undrilled.  But  the  diva 
was  so  comprehensively  talented  that  she  carried 
the  whole  performance.  At  the  same  time  there 
were  those  among  her  hearers  who  lamented  that 
her  transcendent  ability  should  be  burlesqued  by 
so  shabby  and  impotent  a  surrounding.  The  en- 
gagement of  this  famous  lady  was  meanwhile  one 
of  those  sad  operatic  facts  for  which  the  American 
people  have  found,  during  years  past,  no  remedy 
and  no  preventive.  The  fault,  of  course,  lies  with 
themselves.  When  they  are  sufficiently  numerous 
as  true  lovers  of  music  they  will  refuse  their 
countenance  to  even  a  great  singer  except  with 
creditable  artistic  and  scenic  support. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         77 

Pauline  sat  in  the  Effingliams'  spacious  prosce- 
nium-box, between  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  and  her 
daughter.  Sallie  Poughkeepsie  was  a  large  girl, 
with  her  mother's  nose,  her  mother's  serenity, 
her  mother's  promise  of  corpulent  matronhood. 
She  had  immense  prospects ;  it  was  reported  that 
she  had  refused  at  least  twenty  eligible  matrimo- 
nial offers  while  waiting  for  the  parental  nod  of 
approval,  which  had  not  yet  come. 

During  the  first  entr'acte  a  little  throng  of  ad- 
mirers entered  the  box.  Some  of  these  Pauline 
knew;  others  had  appeared,  as  it  were,  after  her 
time.  One  was  an  Englishman,  and  she  presently 
became  presented  to  him  as  the  Earl  of  Glenart- 
ney.  The  title  struck  her  as  beautiful,  appealing 
to  her  sense  of  the  romantic  and  picturesque ;  but 
she  wondered  that  it  had  done  so  when  she  subse- 
quently bent  a  closer  gaze  upon  the  receding  fore- 
head, flaccid  mouth  and  lank  frame  of  the  Earl 
himself.  He  had  certainly  as  much  hard  prose 
about  his  appearance  as  poetry  in  his  name.  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie  beamed  upon  him  in  a  sort  of  side- 
long way  all  the  time  that  he  conversed  with 
Sallie.  A  magnate  of  bountiful  shirt-bosom  and 
haughty  profile  claimed  her  full  heed,  but  she 
failed  to  bestow  it  entirely;  the  presence  of  this 
unmarried  Scotch  peer  at  her  child's  elbow  was 


78          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

too  stirring  an  incident;  her  usual  equanimity 
was  in  a  delightful  flutter ;  ambition  had  already 
begun  its  insidious  whispers,  for  the  Earl  was 
known  to  be  still  a  bachelor. 

Pauline,  who  read  her  aunt  so  thoroughly,  felt 
the  mockery  of  this  maternal  deference.  She  told 
herself  that  there  was  something  dreary  and  hor- 
rible about  a  state  of  human  worldliness  which 
could  thus  idolize  mere  rank  and  place.  She 
knew  well  enough  that  so  long  as  Lord  Glen- 
artney  were  not  a  complete  idiot,  and  so  long  as 
his  moral  character  escaped  the  worst  depravity, 
he  would  be  esteemed  a  magnificent  match  for 
her  cousin. 

The  Earl  remained  at  Sallie's  side  all  through 
the  succeeding  act.  When  the  curtain  again  fell 
he  still  remained,  while  other  gentlemen  took  the 
places  of  those  now  departing.  And  among  these, 
to  her  surprise  and  pleasure,  was  Ralph  Kindelon. 

She  almost  rose  as  she  extended  her  hand  to 
her  friend.  A  defiant  satisfaction  had  suddenly 
thrilled  her.  She  pronounced  Kindelon's  name 
quite  loudly  as  she  presented  him  to  her  aunt. 
Instead  of  merely  bowing  to  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie, 
Kindelon,  with  effusive  cordiality,  put  forth  his 
hand.  Pauline  saw  a  startled  look  creep  across 
her  aunt's  face.  The  handsome  massive-framed 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW.         79 

Irishman  was  not  clad  in  evening  dress.  He  tow- 
ered above  all  the  other  gentlemen;  he  seemed, 
as  indeed  he  almost  was,  like  a  creature  of  another 
species.  His  advent  made  an  instant  sensation ;  a 
universal  stare  was  levelled  upon  him  by  these 
sleek  devotees  of  fashion,  among  whom  he  had  the 
air  of  pushing  his  way  with  a  presumptuous  geni- 
ality. He  carried  a  soft  "  wide-awake "  hat  in 
one  hand;  his  clothes  were  of  some  dark  gray 
stuff;  his  neatly  but  heavily  booted  feet  made 
dull  sounds  upon  the  floor  as  he  now  moved 
backward  in  search  of  a  chair.  There  was  no 
possible  doubt  regarding  his  perfect  self-posses- 
sion; he  had  evidently  come  to  remain  and  to 
assert  himself. 

"  Who  on  earth  is  he  ? "  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie 
found  a  chance  to  swiftly  whisper  in  the  ear  of 
her  niece.  There  was  an  absolutely  dramatic 
touch  in  the  agitation  which  went  with  her  ques- 
tioning sentence. 

Pauline  looked  steadily  at  her  aunt  as  she  re- 
sponded :  "  A  very  valued  friend  of  mine." 

"  But,  my  dear  !  "  faltered  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie. 
The  fragmentary  little  vocative  conveyed  a  volume 
of  patrician  dismay. 

By  this  time  Kindelon  had  found  a  chair.  He 
placed  it  close  to  Pauline. 


80         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"I  am  so  very  glad  that  you  discovered  me," 
said  Pauline.  She  spoke  in  quite  loud  tones, 
while  everybody  listened.  Her  words  had  the 
effect  of  a  distinct  challenge,  and  as  such  she 
intended  them. 

"  I  am  flinging  down  a  gauntlet,"  she  thought, 
"  to  snobbery  and  conservatism.  This  slight  event 
marks  a  positive  era  in  my  life." 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  orchestra,"  now  said  Kin- 
delon,  in  his  heartiest  tones.  "  The  distance  re- 
vealed you  to  me,  though  I  cannot  say  it  lent  the 
least  enchantment,  for  that  would  surely  be  impossi- 
ble." He  now  looked  towards  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie, 
without  a  trace  of  awe  in  his  mirthful  expression. 
"You  must  pardon  my  gallantry,  madam,"  he 
proceeded.  "  Your  niece  and  I,  though  recent 
friends,  are  yet  old  ones.  We  have  crossed  the 
Atlantic  together,  and  that,  in  the  winter  season, 
is  a  wondrous  promoter  of  intimacy,  as  you  per- 
haps know.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Varick  has  already 
done  me  the  honor  of  mentioning  our  acquaint- 
ance." 

"  Not  until  now,"  said  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  with 
a  smile  that  had  the  glitter  of  ice  in  it. 


IV. 

orchestra  had  not  yet  re-commenced,  and 
the  curtain  would  not  reascend  for  at  least 
ten  good  minutes.  A  vigorous  babble  of  many 
voices  rose  from  the  many  upstairs  boxes.  In 
some  of  these  Kindelon's  appearance  might  not 
have  created  the  least  comment.  Here  it  was  a 
veritable  bombshell. 

The  "  Poughkeepsie  set "  was  famed  for  its 
rigid  exclusiveness.  Wherever  Miss  Sallie  and 
her  mother  went,  a  little  train  of  courtiers  inva- 
riably followed  them.  They  always  represented 
an  ultra-select  circle  inside  of  the  larger  and  still 
decidedly  aristocratic  one.  Only  certain  young 
men  ever  presumed  to  approach  Sallie  at  all,  and 
these  were  truly  the  darlings  of  fortune  and  fash- 
ion—  young  gentlemen  of  admitted  ascendency, 
whose  attentions  would  have  made  an  obscure 
girl  rapidly  prominent,  and  who,  while  often  dis- 
tinguished for  admirable  manners,  always  con- 
trived to  hover  near  those  who  were  the  sovereign 

81 


82         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

reverse  of  obscure.  They  would  carry  only  her 
bouquets,  or  those  of  other  girls  who  belonged  to 
the  same  special  and  envied  clique;  they  would 
"  take  out  in  the  German "  only  Sallie  and  her 
particular  intimates.  Bitter  jealousies  among  the 
contemplating  dowagers  were  often  a  result  of 
this  determined  eclecticism.  "  Why  is  it  that  my 
Kate  has  to  put  up  with  so  many  second-rate 
men?"  would  pass  with  tormenting  persistence 
through  the  mind  of  this  matron.  "  Why  can't 
my  Caroline  get  any  of  the  great  swells  to  notice 
her?"  would  drearily  haunt  another.  And  be- 
tween these  two  distressed  ladies  there  might 
meanwhile  be  seated  a  third,  whose  daughter,  for 
reasons  of  overwhelming  wealth  or  particular  at- 
tractiveness, always  moved  clad  in  a  nimbus  of 
sanctity. 

Pauline  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  the  com- 
ing of  her  friend  had  seemed  an  audacity,  and  that 
his  unconventionally  garrulous  tongue  was  now 
regarded  as  a  greater  one.  Courtlandt  may  have 
told  her  that  the  rival  factions  had  cemented  their 
differences  and  that  all  society  in  New  York  was 
more  democratic  than  formerly.  Still,  it  was  un- 
imaginable that  her  aunt  Cynthia  could  ever  really 
change  her  spots.  Where  she  trod,  there,  too,  must 
float  the  aroma  of  an  individual  self-glorification. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         83 

Pauline  was  as  much  delighted  by  Kindelon's  easy 
daring  as  by  the  almost  glacial  answer  of  her 
stately  kinswoman  ;  and  she  at  once  hastened  to 
say,  while  looking  with  a  smile  at  the  unembar- 
rassed Kindelon  himself, — 

"  I  have  scarcely  had  a  chance  to  tell  either  my 
a  ant  or  my  cousin  how  good  you  were  to  me  on 
the  '  Bothnia.' "  Then  she  lifted  her  fan,  and  waved 
it  prettily  toward  Sallie.  "  This  is  my  cousin, 
Miss  Poughkeepsie,"  she  went  on;  she  did  not 
wait  for  the  slow  accomplishment  of  Sallie's  forced 
and  freezing  bow,  but  at  once  added :  "  and  here 
is  Lord  Glenartney,  here  Mr.  Fyshkille,  here  Mr. 
Van  Arsdale,  here  Mr.  Hackensack.  Now,  I  think 
you  know  us  all,  Mr.  Kiudelon." 

As  she  ended  her  little  speech  she  met  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  placid  con- 
sternation. Of  course  this  wholesale  introduction, 
among  the  chance  occupants  of  an  opera  box,  was 
a  most  unprecedented  violation  of  usage.  But 
that  was  precisely  Pauline's  wish  —  to  violate 
usage,  if  she  could  do  it  without  recourse  to  any 
merely  vulgar  rupture.  They  had  all  stared  at 
Ralph  Kindelon,  had  treated  him  as  if  he  were 
some  curious  animal  instead  of  a  fellow-creature 
greatly  their  own  superior,  and  they  should  have 
a  chance  now  of  discovering  just  how  well  he 


84         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

could  hold  his  own  in  their  little  self-satisfied 
assemblage. 

Kindelon  bowed  and  smiled  in  every  direction. 
He  appeared  unconscious  that  everybody  did  not 
bow  and  smile  with  just  the  same  reciprocal 
warmth. 

"  This  is  the  most  luxurious  way  of  enjoying 
the  opera,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  upward  gesture 
of  both  hands  to  indicate  the  walls  of  the  commo- 
dious box.  "  But,  ah  !  I  am  afraid  that  it  possesses 
its  drawbacks  as  well !  One  would  be  tempted  to 
talk  too  much  here  —  to  discountenance  the  per- 
formance. Now,  I  am  an  irreclaimable  talker,  as 
Mrs.  Varick  can  testify;  she  has  hardly  done  any- 
thing but  listen  since  the  beginning  of  our  acquaint- 
ance. And  yet  I  should  like  to  feel  that  I  had  my 
tribute  of  silence  always  ready  for  the  great  musi- 
cal masters.  Among  these  I  rank  the  Italian  com- 
posers, whom  it  has  now  become  fashionable  to 
despise.  Pray,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  are  you  —  or 
is  your  daughter  ?  —  a  convert  to  what  the}r  term 
the  new  school  ?  " 

There  was  no  ignoring  the  felicitous,  rhythmic 
voice  that  pronounced  these  hurried  and  yet  clearly 
enunciated  sentences,  unless  by  means  of  an  inso- 
lence so  direct  and  cruel  that  it  would  transgress 
all  bounds  of  civil  decency.  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         85 

was  capable  of  not  a  little  insolence  at  a  pinch ; 
her  ramparts  were  spiked,  and  could  deal  no 
gentle  hurts  to  those  who  sought  anything  like 
the  scaling  of  them.  But  here  the  overtures 
made  were  alike  too  suave  and  too  bold.  She 
felt  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  novel  civil- 
ity—  one  that  assumed  her  rebuff  to  be  impos- 
sible. 

"  I  have  always  preferred  the  Italian  music," 
she  now  said.  "But  then  my  knowledge  of  the 
German  is  limited." 

"  Oh,  German  music  is  the  most  dreadful  baw!" 
here  struck  in  Lord  Glenartney.  He  had  taken  an 
immediate  fancy  to  Kindelon  ;  he  liked  people  who 
were  in  a  different  sphere  from  himself;  he  usually 
went  with  jockeys  and  prize-fighters,  whenever  the 
demands  of  his  great  position  permitted  such  asso- 
ciation, in  his  native  country.  Here  in  America 
he  knew  only  the  Poughkeepsie  set,  which  had 
seized  upon  him  and  kept  close  watch  over  him 
ever  since  he  had  landed  in  New  York. 

"  No,  I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  there,"  said 
Kindelon.  "  Undoubtedly  German  music  is  based 
upon  a  grand  idea.  I  should  be  sorry  not  to  be- 
lieve so." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  laughed  his  lordship ;  "  I  don't 
know  anything  about  grand  ideahs.  The  small 


86         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

ones  are  quite  as  much  as  I  can  manage  comfort- 
ably." 

"  Mr.  Kindelon  will  be  shocked  by  such  a  con- 
fession, I'm  sure,"  said  the  gentleman  named 
Fyshkille,  who  was  strikingly  slim,  who  gazed  at 
people  condescendingly  over  a  pale  parapet  of 
very  stiff  shirt-collar,  and  who  considered  himself 
to  have  a  natural  turn  for  satire.  "  He  appears  to 
be  a  person  of  such  grand  ideas  himself." 

This  airy  bit  of  impudence  caused  Mr.  Van 
Arsdale  to  twirl  one  end  of  a  dim,  downy  mus- 
tache and  perpetrate  a  rather  ambiguous,  giggle. 
But  Mr.  Hackensack,  who  was  stout,  with  a  pair 
of  large  black  eyes  set  in  a  fat,  colorless,  mind- 
less face,  whipped  forth  a  silk  pocket-handkerchief 
and  gave  an  explosive  burst  of  merriment  within 
its  soft  folds. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  much  amused  at  some- 
thing," drawled  Sallie,  while  she  looked  in  her 
languid  way  toward  her  trio  of  admirers. 

"  We  are,"  said  the  satirical  Mr.  Fyshkille,  who 
prided  himself  on  always  keeping  his  counten- 
ance. His  two  friends,  who  thought  him  a  devil- 
ish clever  fellow,  both  produced  another  laugh, 
this  time  suppressed  on  the  part  of  each. 

Pauline  felt  keenly  annoyed.  She  glanced  at 
Kindelon,  telling  herself  that  he  must  surely  see 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         87 

the  pitiable  ridicule  of  which  he  was  being  made 
the  butt. 

She  had,  however,  quite  miscalculated.  The 
self-esteem  of  Kindelon  as  utterly  failed  to  realize 
that  he  was  an  object  of  the  slightest  banter, 
whether  overt  or  covert,  as  though  he  had  been 
both  near-sighted  and  deaf.  He  knew  nothing  of 
the  idle  autocracy  with  which  accident  had  now 
brought  him  into  contact.  He  was  opposed  to  it 
on  principle,  but  he  had  had  no  experience  of  its 
trivial  methods  of  arrogance.  He  had  come  into 
the  box  to  see  Pauline,  and  he  took  it  broadly  for 
granted  that  he  would  be  treated  with  politeness 
by  her  surrounders,  and  listened  to  (provided  he 
assumed  that  office  of  general  spokesman  which 
he  nearly  always  assumed  wherever  chance  placed 
him)  with  admiring  attention. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  had  stripped  his  would- 
be  foes  of  all  sting  by  effectively  and  solidly  mani- 
festing unconsciousness  that  they  had  intended  to 
be  hostile.  He  talked  of  Wagner  and  his  follow- 
ers with  a  brilliant  force  that  did  not  solicit  heed 
and  yet  compelled  it.  He  discoursed  upon  the 
patent  absurdities  of  Italian  opera  with  a  nimble 
wit  and  an  incisive  severity.  Then  he  justified 
his  preference  for  Donizetti  and  Rossini  with  a 
readiness  that  made  his  past  sarcasm  on  their 


88         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

modes  quickly  forgotten.  And  finally  he  deliv- 
ered a  eulogy  upon  the  German  motive  and  ideal 
in  music  which  showed  the  fine  liberality  of  a 
mind  that  recognizes  the  shortcomings  in  its  own 
predilection,  and  foresees  the  inevitable  popularity 
of  a  more  advanced  and  complicated  system. 

He  had  silenced  everybody  before  he  finished, 
but  with  the  silence  of  respect.  He  had  forced 
even  these  petty  triflers  who  dwelt  on  the  mere 
skirts  of  all  actual  life,  to  recognize  him  as  not 
simply  the  comer  from  a  world  which  they  did 
not  care  to  know  about,  but  from  a  world  greater 
and  higher  than  any  which  they  were  capable  of 
knowing  about.  And  finally,  in  the  flush  of  this 
handsome  little  triumph,  he  made  his  exit,  just 
as  the  curtain  was  again  rising,  after  a  few  mur- 
mured words  to  Pauline  regarding  certain  night- 
work  on  the  New  York  "Asteroid,"  which  must 
prevent  him  from  seeing  the  remainder  of  the 
performance. 

Nobody  heeded  the  opera  for  at  least  five  min- 
utes after  his  departure.  He  had  left  his  spell 
behind  him.  Pauline  at  first  marked  its  cogency, 
and  then  observed  this  gradually  dissolve.  The 
fiimsiness  of  their  thinking  and  living  returned 
to  them  again  in  all  its  paltry  reality. 

"  Of  course,"  murmured  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  to 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         89 

Pauline,  "  he  is  a  person  who  writes  books,  of  one 
sort  or  another." 

"  If  they  're  novels,"  said  Lord  Glenartney,  "I'd 
like  awfully  to  know  abaout  'em.  I  'm  fond  of 
readin'  a  good  novel.  It 's  so  jolly  if  one 's  lyin' 
daown  and  carn't  sleep,  but  feels  a  bit  seedy,  ye 
know." 

"  I  fancy  they  must  be  rather  long  novels,"  said 
Sallie,  with  a  drowsy  scorn  that  suited  her  big, 
placid  anatomy. 

"  I  wish  he  'd  not  run  off  so ;  I  wanted  the 
address  of  his  hatter,"  declared  the  envenomed 
Mr.  Fyshkille. 

"  Or  his  tailor,"  amended  Mr.  Van  Arsdale,  with 
the  auxiliary  giggle. 

"  I  guess  you  'd  find  both  somewhere  in  the 
Bowery,"  pursued  the  fleshy  Mr.  Hackensack,  who 
always  said  "  I  guess,"  for  "  I  fancy,"  and  had  a 
nasal  voice,  and  an  incorrigible  American  soul  in- 
side his  correct  foreign  garments. 

Pauline  now  swept  a  haughty  look  at  Mr.  Fysh- 
kille and  his  two  allies,  and  said,  with  open  dis- 
pleasure, — 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it  an  unpardonable  sin  for 
any  gentleman  to  suit  his  own  taste  in  dress,  and 
not  copy  that  of  some  English  model.  But  your 
uncivil  comments  on  Mr.  Kinclelon  before  myself, 


90         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

his  admitted  friend,  show  me  that  he  might  easily 
teach  you  a  lesson  in  good  manners." 

All  three  of  the  offenders  were  now  forced  to 
utter  words  of  apology,  while  Lord  Glenartney 
looked  as  if  he  thought  Mrs.  Varick's  wrath  great 
fun,  and  Sallie  exchanged  a  look  of  ironical  dis- 
tress with  her  mother,  that  seemed  to  inquire  : 
"  What  uncomfortable  absurdity  will  Pauline  next 
be  guilty  of?" 

But  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  and  Sallie  left  their  kins- 
woman at  her  Bond  Street  residence  that  night 
with  very  agreeable  adieus.  True,  Lord  Glenart- 
ney occupied  a  seat  in  their  carriage,  but  even  if 
this  had  not  been  the  case,  neither  mother  nor 
daughter  would  have  vented  upon  Pauline  any  of 
the  disapproval  she  had  provoked  in  them.  She 
was  now  a  power  in  the  world,  and  besides  being 
near  to  them  in  blood,  even  her  follies  merited  the 
leniency  of  a  Poughkeepsie. 

But  after  Sallie  and  her  mother  had  said  good- 
night to  his  lordship  and  were  alone  at  home 
together,  the  young  lady  spoke  with  querulous 
disgust  of  her  cousin's  behavior. 

"  She  will  lose  caste  horribly,  mamma,  if  she 
goes  on  in  this  way.  It 's  perfectly  preposterous  ! 
If  there  is  one  thing  on  earth  that  is  really  loiv, 
it 's  for  a  woman  to  become  strong-minded !  " 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         91 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  nodded.  "You  are  quite 
right.  But  she  's  her  own  mistress,  and  there  is 
no  restraining  her." 

"  People  ought  to  be  restrained,"  grumbled 
Sallie,  loosening  her  opera  cloak,  "when  they 
want  to  throw  away  their  positions  like  that." 

"  Oh,  Pauline  can't  throw  hers  away  so  easily," 
affirmed  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  with  sapient  compo- 
sure. "  No,  not  with  her  name  and  her  big  in- 
come. She  will  merely  get  herself  laughed  at, 
you  know  —  encanailler  herself  most  ludicrously ; 
that  is  all.  We  must  let  her  have  her  head,  as 
one  says  of  a  horse.  Her  father  was  always  full 
of  caprices ;  he  would  n't  have  died  a  poor  man  if 
he  had  not  been.  She  merely  has  a  caprice  now. 
Of  course  she  will  come  to  terms  again  with 
society  sooner  or  later,  and  repent  having  made 
such  a  goose  of  herself.  That  is,  unless  "  —  And 
here  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  paused,  while  a  slight  but 
distinct  shudder  ended  her  sentence. 

Sallie  gave  a  faint,  harsh  laugh.  "  Oh,  I  under- 
stand you  thoroughly,  mamma,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  mean  unless  some  common  man  like  that  Mr. 
Kindelon  should  induce  her  to  marry  him.  How 
awful  such  a  thing  would  be  !  I  declare,  the  very 
thought  of  it  is  sickening !  With  that  superb  for- 
tune, too !  I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  he  had  pro- 


92          THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

posed  already !  Perhaps  she  has  only  been  prepar- 
ing us  gradually  for  the  frightful  news  that  she  has 
accepted  him ! " 

But  no  such  frightful  news  reached  the  Pough- 
keepsies,  as  day  succeeded  day.  Pauline  went 
little  into  the  fashionable  throngs,  which  were  at 
the  height  of  their  winter  gayeties.  She  soon 
quitted  her  Bond  Street  residence  for  good,  and 
secured  a  small  basement-house  on  a  side  street 
near  Fifth  Avenue,  furnishing  it  with  that  speed 
in  the  way  of  luxurious  appointment  which  a 
plethoric  purse  so  readily  commands. 

"I  am  quite  prepared  now,"  she  said  to  Kin- 
delon  one  morning,  after  having  received  him  in 
her  new  and  lovely  sitting-room,  where  everything 
was  unique  and  choice,  from  the  charming  chande- 
lier of  twisted  silver  to  the  silken  Japanese  screen, 
rich  with  bird  and  flower  in  gold  and  crimson. 
"  Of  course  you  understand  what  I  mean." 

He  affected  not  to  do  so.  "  Prepared  ?  "  he  re- 
peated, with  the  gay  gleam  slipping  into  his  eyes. 
"For  what?" 

"  My  salon,  of  course." 

"  Oh,"  he  said.  "  I  confess  that  I  suspected 
what  you  meant,  though  I  was  not  quite  sure.  I 
almost  feared  lest  your  resolution  might  have 
undergone  a  change  of  late." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         93 

"  And  pray,  why  ?  "  asked  Pauline,  raising  her 
brows,  with  a  little  imperious  smile. 

"  You  have  not  mentioned  the  project  for  surely 
a  good  fortnight,"  he  returned.  "  I  had  wondered 
whether  or  no  it  had  weakened  with  you." 

"  It  is  stronger  than  ever,"  Pauline  asseverated. 
She  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  tried  to  look 
excessively  firm  and  resolute.  She  was  always 
particularly  handsome  when  she  tried  to  look 
thus;  she  was  just  slender  and  feminine  enough 
in  type  to  make  the  assumption  of  strength,  of 
determination,  especially  becoming. 

"  Ah,  very  well,"  replied  Kindelon,  with  one  of 
his  richly  expressive  smiles.  "  Then  I  have  a  pro- 
position to  make  you.  It  concerns  an  immediate 
course  of  action  on  your  part.  Have  you  ever 
heard  of  Mrs.  Hagar  Williamson  Dares  ?  " 

Pauline  burst  into  a  laugh.  "No.  It  sounds 
more  like  an  affirmation  than  a  name  —  '  Mrs. 
Hagar  Williamson  Dares.'  One  feels  like  saying, 
'Does  she?'  Don't  think  me  irredeemably  tri- 
fling, and  please  continue.  Please  tell  me,  I  mean, 
what  remarkable  things  has  this  remarkably-named 
lady  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

Pauline's  face,  full  of  a  pleased  anticipation, 
fell.  "Nothing!  How  tiresome!" 


94         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  I  mean  nothing  remarkable,"  Kindelon  went 
on,  "  in  the  luminously  intellectual  sense.  And 
yet  she  is  a  very  extraordinary  woman.  At 
twenty-five  she  was  divorced  from  her  husband." 

Pauline  shook  her  head  troubledly.  "  That  does 
not  sound  at  all  promising." 

"  He  was  a  dissolute  wretch.  The  courts  easily 
granted  her  a  release  from  him.  At  this  time  she 
was  almost  penniless.  The  question,  as  she  had 
two  little  children,  naturally  arose :  '  How  are  we 
three  to  live?'  She  had  been  reared  in  a  New 
England  home ;  her  dead  father  had  been  a  man 
of  extensive  learning,  and  at  one  time  the  princi- 
pal of  a  successful  school.  Hagar  had  always  had 
4  a  taste  for  writing,'  as  we  call  it.  She  began  by 
doing  criticisms  for  a  New  York  journal  of  rather 
scholarly  tendency,  whose  editor  had  combined 
pity  for  her  almost  starving  condition  with  appre- 
ciation of  her  undoubted  talents.  But  the  prices 
that  the  poor  struggling  young  mother  received 
were  necessarily  very  meagre.  She  became  prac- 
tical. She  asked  herself  if  there  was  no  other 
way  of  earning  money  by  her  pen.  She  soon  dis- 
covered a  way;  it  did  not  require  her  to  know 
about  Diderot  and  Strauss  and  Spinoza,  with  all 
of  whose  writings  (and  with  many  classics  more 
of  equal  fame)  she  was  finely  familiar ;  it  simply 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.         95 

required  that  she  should  lay  aside  every  vestige 
of  literary  pride  and  write  practically.  Good 
Heavens !  what  a  word  that  word  '  practical '  is 
in  literature !  You  must  tell  the  people  how  to 
bake  a  pie,  to  cure  a  headache,  to  bleach  a  shirt, 
to  speak  the  truth,  to  clean  silverware,  to  make 
a  proposal  of  marriage.  Mrs.  Dares  did  it  in 
country  letters,  in  city  letters,  in  newspaper  edi- 
torials, in  anonymous  fine-print  columns,  in  the 
back  parts  of  fashion  and  household  magazines  — 
and  she  does  it  still.  For  a  number  of  years  past 
she  has  superintended  a  periodical  of  the  popular 
sort,  which  I  dare  say  you  have  never  heard  of. 
The  amount  of  work  that  she  accomplishes  is 
enormous.  A  strong  man  would  stagger  under 
it,  but  this  frail  woman  (you'll  think  her  frail 
when  you  see  her)  bears  it  with  wondrous  endu- 
rance. Her  life  has  been  a  terrible  failure,  looked 
at  from  one  point  of  view  —  for  it  is  scarcely 
exaggeration  to  say  that  had  she  not  been  handi- 
capped by  poverty  in  the  beginning  she  might 
have  swayed  and  charmed  her  generation  with 
great  books.  But  from  another  point  of  view 
her  life  has  been  a  sublime  success ;  she  has 
trampled  all  aspiration  under  foot,  forsworn 
every  impulse  of  honorable  egotism,  and  toiled 
for  the  maintenance  of  a  home,  for  the  educa- 


96         THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

tioii  of  her  two  daughters.  They  are  both 
grown  up,  now  —  girls  who  are  themselves  bread- 
winners like  their  mother,  and  bearing  their  yoke 
of  labor  as  cheerfully,  though  not  with  the  same 
splendid  strength,  as  she.  One  is  a  school-teacher 
in  a  well-known  kindergarten  here,  and  one  has 
become  an  artist  of  no  contemptible  ability. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Dares  has  not  merely  established 
a  pleasant  and  refined  household;  she  has  caused 
to  be  diffused  from  it,  as  a  social  centre,  the  warm 
radiations  of  a  sweet,  wholesome  hospitality.  Like 
some  of  the  high-born  Fifth  Avenue  leaders  of 
fashion,  she  has  her  '  evenings.'  But  they  are  of  a 
totally  different  character.  They  are  not  '  select ; ' 
I  don't  claim  that  grace  for  them.  And  yet  they 
are  very  interesting,  very  typical.  Some  shabby 
people  meet  there  —  shabby,  I  mean,  in  mental 
ways  no  less  than  in  character  and  costume.  But 
the  prevailing  element  is  of  a  higher  order  than 
they.  Anyone  whom  Mrs.  Dares  believes  to  be 
an  earnest  worker  in  the  field  of  letters  will  have 
no  difficulty  about  gaining  her  favor.  I  think  she 
would  rather  greet  in  her  rooms  some  threadbare 
young  poet  who  had  published  at  his  own  expense 
a  slim  little  volume  of  poems  possessing  distinct 
merit  and  having  received  the  snubs  of  both  critics 
and  public,  than  welcome  some  rich  and  successful 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.         97 

writer  whose  real  claim  upon  recognition  she  hon- 
estly doubted.  And  for  this  reason  she  makes 
mistakes.  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  aware  of  making 
them.  When  we  search  the  highways  and  hedges 
for  cases  of  deserving  charity,  we  cannot  but  light 
upon  at  least  an  occasional  impostor  —  to  put  the 
matter  as  optimistically  as  possible.  And  now  let 
me  tell  you  that  if  my  mighty  explanatory  out- 
burst has  roused  your  desire  to  meet  Mrs.  Dares, 
the  opportunity  to  do  so  lies  well  within  your 
reach." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Pauline.  And  then,  as  if  abashed 
by  the  brusque  abruptness  of  her  own  question,  she 
added,  with  a  little  penitent  nod :  "  Oh,  yes ;  you 
mean  that  she  has  kindly  consented  to  let  you 
bring  her  here." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Kindelon.  "  It  is  true  that 
she  goes  about  a  good  deal.  Her  position  as  a 
journalist  gives  her,  of  course,  the  entree  to  many 
theatres,  and  as  she  is  passionately  fond  of  the 
drama,  her  face  is  seldom  missed  on  a  premiere 
at  any  reputable  house  —  Daly's,  the  Union 
Square,  the  Madison  Square,  or  Wallack's.  She 
takes  delight,  too,  in  appearing  at  the  entertain- 
ments of  her  various  friends,  and  she  always  dees 
so  clad  elegantly,  richly,  but  without  a  shadow 
T>f  ostentatious  display.  On  these  occasions  her 


98         THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

society  is  eagerly  sought.  I  have  sometimes  won- 
dered why ;  for  her  conversation,  though  invariably 
full  of  sound  sense  and  pithy  acumen,  lacks  the 
cheerful  play  of  humor  which  is  so  widely  de- 
manded to  generate  anything  like  popularity 
wherever  men  and  women  are  socially  met. 
But  she  is  very  popular,  and  I  suppose  it  is  her 
striking  simplicity,  her  gift  of  always  being  sin- 
cerely and  unaffectedly  herself,  which  has  made 
her  so.  Still,  for  all  this  gregarious  impulse,  if 
I  may  thus  name  it,  I  do  not  believe  she  would 
take  the  first  step,  where  you  are  concerned,  to 
establish  an  acquaintance." 

"  And  for  what  reason  ?  "  asked  Pauline.  Her 
tones,  while  she  put  this  query,  were  full  of  a 
hurt  bewilderment.  Kindelon  seemed  to  muse 
for  a  brief  space ;  and  any  such  unconversational 
mood  was  rare,  as  we  know,  with  his  mercurial 
lightsomeness  of  manner.  "She  would  be  sensi- 
tive," he  presently  said,  "about  making  an  ad- 
vance of  this  sort." 

"  Of  this  sort?"  repeated  Pauline,  with  a  some- 
what irritated  inflection.  "  Of  what  sort  ?  " 

Her  companion  watched  her  with  fixity  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  raised  his  large  forefinger, 
and  slowly  shook  it,  with  admonitory  comedy  of 
gesture.  "You  must  not  tell  me  that  you  don't 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.         99 

understand,"  he  said.  "  Put  yourself  in  tins 
lady's  place.  Suppose  that  you,  in  spite  of  fine 
brains  and  noble  character,  lacked  the  social 
standing  "  — 

Pauline  broke  in  quite  hotly  at  this.  Her  eyes 
had  taken  a  quick  sparkle,  and  the  color  was 
flying  rosy  and  pure  into  her  fair  face.  "  Pshaw ! " 
she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  not  any  question  of  social 
standing.  I  want  to  know  these  people "  — 
She  suddenly  paused,  as  though  her  tongue  had 
betrayed  her  into  some  regrettable  and  unseemly 
phrase.  "I  want  to  pass,"  she  continued  more 
slowly,  "from  an  aimless  world  into  one  of  thought 
and  sense.  Mrs.  Dares  is  prominent  in  this  other 
world.  From  what  you  say  I  should  judge  that 
she  is  a  very  representative  and  influential  spirit 
there.  Why  should  she  not  be  benign  and  gra- 
cious enough  to  seek  me  here  ?  Why  should  she 
require  that  I  shall  emphatically  pay  her  my 
court?  Your  description  makes  me  glad  and 
happy  to  know  her.  If  she  learned  this,  would 
she  hold  aloof  from  any  absurd  scruples  about  a 
disparity  in  social  standing? —  Well,  if  she 
did,"  declared  Pauline,  who  by  this  time  was  quite 
excitedly  flushed  and  fluttered,  "  then  I  should  say 
that  you  had  over-painted  her  virtues  and  too 
flatteringly  concealed  her  faults!" 


100       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

Kindelon  threw  back  his  head,  as  she  finished, 
and  laughed  with  such  heartiness  that  more  of 
his  strong  white  teeth  were  transiently  visible 
than  would  have  pleased  a  strict  judge  of  deco- 
rum. 

"  Oh,  how  amusing  you  are !  "  he  cried.  "  You 
are  really  superb  and  don't  perceive  it !  —  Well," 
he  proceeded,  growing  graver,  "  I  suppose  you 
would  be  far  less  so  if  you  had  the  vaguest 
inkling  of  it.  Now,  pray  listen.  Does  it  enter 
your  conscience  at  all  that  you  are  disguising 
a  kind  of  royal  patronage  and  condescension 
behind  a  gentle  and  saint-like  humility?  No  — 
of  course  it  does  n't.  But,  my  dear  lady,  this  is 
unequivocally  true.  You  scoff  at  social  standing, 
and  yet  you  complacently  base  yourself  upon  it. 
You  want  to  desert  all  your  old  tenets,  and  yet 
you  keep  a  kind  of  surreptitious  clasp  about 
them.  You  would  not  for  the  world  be  consid- 
ered a  person  who  cared  for  the  aristocratic 
purple,  and  yet  you  wrap  it  round  you  in  the 
most  illogical  fashion.  Mrs.  Dares  has  her  even- 
ings ;  to-night  is  one  of  them.  You,  as  yet,  have 
no  evenings ;  your  salon  is  still  in  embryo.  You 
want  to  affiliate  with  her,  to  be  one  of  her  set,  her 
surroundings,  her  monde.  And  yet  you  quietly 
bid  her  to  your  house,  as  though  she  were  propos- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       101 

ing   your   co-operation,  your  support,  your   inti- 
macy, and  not  you  hers !  " 

Pauline,  with  perhaps  a  deepened  tinge  of  color 
in  her  cheeks,  was  staring  at  the  floor  when  Kin- 
delon  ended.  And  from  beneath  her  gown  came 
the  impatient  little  tap  of  a  nervous  foot.  After 
an  interval  of  silence,  during  which  her  friend's 
gaze  watched  her  with  a  merry  vivacity  of  expres- 
sion, she  slowly  lifted  her  shapely  blond  head,  and 
answered  in  grave,  even  saddened  tones, — 

"  Then  my  salon  is  to  be  a  failure  ?  —  an  unreal- 
izable castle  in  Spain?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  promptly  said  Kindelon,  with  one  of 
those  sympathetic  laughs  which  belonged  among 
his  elusive  fascinations.  "  By  no  means  —  unless 
you  so  will  it." 

"  But  I  don't  will  it,"  said  Pauline. 

"Very  well.  Then  it  will  be  a  castle  in — in 
New  York.  That  sounds  tangible  enough,  surely. 
It  is  the  first  step  that  counts,  and  you  have  only 
to  take  your  first  step.  It  will  certainly  look 
much  better  to  know  some  of  your  courtiers  be- 
fore you  ascend  your  throne.  And  meanwhile 
it  would  be  far  more  discreet  to  cultivate  an 
acquaintance  with  your  probable  prime  minis- 
ter." 

"  All  of  which  means  —  ?  "  she  said. 


102       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  That  you  had  best  let  me  accompany  you  to 
Mrs.  Dares's  house  this  evening." 

"  But  I  am  not  invited  ! "  exclaimed  Pauline. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are,"  said  Kindelon,  with  easy 
security  in  the  jocund  contradiction.  "  Miss  Cora, 
the  youngest  daughter  of  Mrs.  Dares,  told  me  last 
night  that  she  and  her  mother  would  both  be  very 
glad  to  have  you  come." 

There  was  a  momentary  intonation  in  Kinde- 
lon's  voice  that  struck  his  listener  as  oddly  unex- 
pected. "  So  you  have  already  spoken  of  me  ?  " 
she  said  lingeringly,  and  looking  at  him  with 
more  intentness  than  she  herself  knew  of. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  with  a  certain  speed,  and 
with  tones  that  were  not  just  set  in  an  unembar- 
rassed key.  "  I  go  there  now  and  then." 

"  And  you  have  mentioned  me  to  Mrs.  Dares  ?  " 

"Yes  —  more  than  once,  I  think.  She  knows 
that  you  may  be  induced  to  come  this  evening." 

His  glance,  usually  so  direct,  had  managed 
to  avoid  Pauline's,  which  was  then  very  direct 
indeed. 

"  Tell  me,"  Pauline  said,  after  another  silence 
had  somehow  made  itself  felt  between  them. 
"  Are  you  a  very  good  friend  of  this  girl  —  Miss 
Cora?" 

He   returned  her  look  then,  but  with  an  un- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       103 

wonted  vacillation  of  his  own  —  or  so  she  chose 
to  think. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded,  fluently  frank,  as  it 
seemed.  "  We  are  very  good  friends  —  excellent 
friends,  I  may  say.  You  will  find  her  quite  as 
charming,  in  a  different  way,  as  her  mother.  I 
mean,  of  course,  if  you  will  go  with  me  this 
evening  —  or  any  future  evening." 

Pauline  put  forth  her  hand,  and  laid  it  for  an 
instant  on  his  full-moulded  arm. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  this  evening,"  she  said. 


V. 


TT^INDELON  found  Pauline  in  a  very  light- 
some  and  animated  state  of  mind  when  he 
called  at  her  house  that  evening.  She  had  a 
touch  of  positive  excitement  in  her  way  of  refer- 
ring to  the  proposed  visit.  He  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  look  more  attractive  than  when 
she  received  him,  already  wrapped  in  a  fleecy 
white  over-garment  and  drawing  on  her  gloves, 
while  a  piquant  smile  played  at  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  and  a  vivacious  glitter  filled  her  gray 
eyes. 

"You  are  here  before  the  carriage,"  she  said  to 
him,  "though  we  shan't  have  to  wait  long  for 
that.  —  Hark  —  there  is  the  bell,  now;  my  men 
would  not  presume  to  be  a  minute  late  this  even- 
ing. The  footman  must  have  detected  in  my 
manner  a  great  seriousness  when  I  gave  him  my 
order ;  I  felt  very  serious,  I  can  assure  you,  as  I 
did  so.  It  meant  the  first  step  in  a  totally  new 
career." 

104 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       105 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  look  fluttered,"  said  Kin- 
delon,  in  his  mellow,  jocose  voice. 

"  Naturally  I  do ! "  exclaimed  Pauline,  as  she 
nodded  to  the  servant  who  now  announced  that 
the  carriage  was  in  readiness.  "  I  am  going  to 
have  a  fresh,  genuine  sensation.  I  am  going  to 
emancipate  myself — to  break  my  tether,  as  it 
were.  I  've  been  a  prisoner  for  life ;  I  don't 
know  how  the  sunshine  looks,  or  how  it  feels  to 
take  a  gulp  of  good,  free  air." 

He  watched  her  puzzledly  until  the  outer 
darkness  obscured  her  face,  and  they  entered  the 
carriage  together.  She  mystified  him  while  she 
talked  on,  buoyant  enough,  yet  always  in  the 
same  key.  He  was  not  sure  whether  or  no  her 
sparkling  manner  had  a  certain  sincere  trepida- 
tion behind  it.  Now  and  then  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  her  voluble  professions  of  anxiety  rang  false 
—  as  if  she  were  making  sport  of  herself,  of  him, 
or  of  the  projected  diversion. 

"  Do  you  really  take  the  whole  matter  so  much 
to  heart,"  he  presently  said,  while  the  vehicle 
rolled  them  along  the  wintry,  lamplit  streets,  "or 
is  this  only  some  bit  of  dainty  and  graceful  mas- 
querading ?  " 

"  Masquerading?  "  she  echoed,  with  a  shocked 
accent. 


106       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  are  accustomed  to  meeting  all 
sorts  of  people.  You  can't  think  that  any  human 
classes  are  so  sharply  divided  that  to  cross  a  new 
threshold  means  to  enter  a  new  world." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  could  see  her  face  only 
vaguely  for  some  little  time ;  but  when  a  passing 
light  cast  an  evanescent  gleam  upon  it  he  thought 
that  he  detected  something  like  a  look  of  delicate 
mischief  there.  Her  next  words,  rather  promptly 
spoken,  bore  with  them  an  explanatory  bluntness. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  if  everybody  else  disap- 
points me  Miss  Dares  will  not." 

"  Miss  Dares  ?  "  he  almost  faltered,  in  the  tone 
of  one  thrown  off  his  guard. 

"  Miss  Cora  Dares,"  Pauline  continued,  with  a 
self-correcting  precision.  "  The  younger  of  the 
two  daughters,  the  one  who  paints.  Oh,  you  see," 
she  continued,  after  a  little  laugh  that  was  merry, 
though  faint,  "  I  have  forgotten  nothing.  I  've 
a  great  curiosity  to  see  this  young  artist.  You 
had  not  half  so  much  to  tell  me  about  her  as 
about  her  mother,  and  yet  you  have  somehow 
contrived  to  make  her  quite  as  interesting." 

"  Why  ?  "  Kindelon  asked,  with  a  soft  abrupt- 
ness to  which  the  fact  of  his  almost  invisible 
face  lent  a  greater  force.  "  Is  it  because  you 
think  that  I  like  Cora  Dares?  I  should  like  to 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       107 

think  that  was  your  reason  for  being  interested 
in  her." 

Another  brief  silence  on  Pauline's  part  followed 
his  words,  and  then  she  suddenly  responded,  with 
the  most  non-committal  innocence  of  tone : 

"  Why,  what  other  reason  could  I  possibly 
have?  Of  course  I  suppose  that  you  like  her. 
And  of  course  that  is  why  I  am  anxious  to  meet 
her." 

There  was  a  repelling  pleasantry  in  these 
three  short  sentences.  If  Kindelon  had  been 
inclined  to  slip  any  further  into  the  realm  of  sen- 
timent, the  very  reverse  of  encouragement  had 
now  met  him.  Pauline's  matter-of-course  com- 
placency had  a  distinct  chill  under  its  superficial 
warmth.  "Don't  misunderstand  me,  please,"  she 
went  on,  with  so  altered  a  voice  that  her  listener 
felt  as  if  she  had  indeed  been  masquerading 
through  some  caprice  best  known  to  herself,  and 
now  chose  once  and  for  all  to  drop  masque  and 
cloak.  "  I  really  expect  a  most  novel  and  enter- 
taining experience  to-night.  You  say  that  I  have 
met  all  sorts  of  people.  I  have  by  no  means  done 
so.  It  strikes  me  that  our  acquaintance  is  not 
so  young  that  I  should  tell  you  this.  It  is  true 
that  I  made  a  few  pleasant  and  even  valuable 
friendships  in  Europe;  but  these  have  been  ex- 


108       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

ceptional  in  my  life,  and  I  now  return  to  my 
native  city  to  disapprove  everybody  whom  I  once 
approved." 

"And  you  expect  to  approve  all  the  people 
whom  you  shall  meet  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  ask  that  in  a  tone  of  positive  alarm." 

"I  can't  help  betraying  some  nervous  fear. 
Your  expectations  are  so  exorbitant." 

Pauline  tossed  her  head  in  the  dimness.  "  Oh, 
you  will  find  me  more  easily  suited  than  you 
suppose." 

Kindelon  gave  a  kind  of  dubious  laugh.  "  I  'm 
not  so  sure  that  you  will  be  easily  suited,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  very  pessimistic  in  your  judgments  of 
the  fashionable  throng.  It  strikes  me  that  you 
are  a  rigid  critic  of  nearly  everybody.  How  can 
I  tell  that  you  will  not  denounce  me,  in  an  hour 
or  so,  as  the  worst  of  impostors,  for  having  pre- 
sumed to  introduce  you  among  a  lot  of  objection- 
able bores  ?  " 

"I  think  you  will  admit,"  said  Pauline,  in 
offended  reply,  "  that  most  of  Mrs.  Dares's  friends 
have  brains." 

"  Brains  ?     Oh,  yes,  all  sorts  of  brains." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  meet,"  she  rapidly 
exclaimed  —  "all  sorts  of  brains.  I  am  accus- 
tomed, at  present,  to  only  two  or  three  sorts.  — 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       109 

Oh,  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  become 
bored.  No,  indeed!  On  the  contrary,  I  expect 
to  be  exhilarated.  I  shall  fraternize  with  most 
of  them — I  shall  be  one  of  them  almost  imme- 
diately. "Wait  until  you  see  ! " 

';  I  shan't  see  that,"  said  Kindelon,  with  an 
amused  brusquerie. 

"What  do  you  mean? "she  questioned,  once 
more  offendedly. 

He  began  to  speak,  with  his  old  glib  fleetness. 
"  Why,  my  dear  lady,  because  you  are  not  one  of 
them,  and  never  can  be.  You  are  a  patrician, 
reared  differently,  and  you  will  carry  your  stamp 
with  you  wherever  you  go.  Your  very  voice  will 
betray  you  in  ten  seconds.  You  may  show  them 
that  you  want  to  be  their  good  friend,  but  you 
can't  convince  them  that  you  and  they  are  of  the 
same  stock.  Some  of  them  will  envy  you,  others 
may  secretly  presume  to  despise  you,  and  still 
others  may  very  cordially  like  you.  I  don't  think 
it  has  ever  dawned  upon  me  until  lately  how  dif- 
ferent you  are  from  these  persons  whom  you  wish 
to  make  your  allies  and  supporters.  That  night, 
when  I  went  into  your  aunt's  opera-box,  I  had  a 
very  slight  understanding  of  the  matter.  I  've 
always  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  a  New  York  aristoc- 
racy. It  seemed  so  absurd,  so  self-contradictory. 


110       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

And  if  it  existed  at  all,  I  Ve  always  told  myself, 
it  must  be  the  merest  nonsensical  sham.  But  now 
I  begin  to  recognize  it  as  an  undeniable  fact. 
There  's  a  sort  of  irony,  too,  in  my  finding  it  out 
so  late  —  after  I  have  knocked  about  as  a  jour- 
nalist in  a  city  which  I  believed  to  be  democratic 
if  it  was  anything.  However,  you  've  made  the 
whole  matter  plain  to  me.  You  did  n't  intend  to 
open  my  plebeian  eyes,  but  you  have  done  so.  It 
is  really  wonderful  how  you  have  set  me  thinking. 
I've  often  told  myself  that  America  was  a  politi- 
cal failure  as  a  republic,  but  I  never  realized  that 
it  was  a  social  one." 

Just  then  the  carriage  stopped.  "  I  am  sorry," 
said  Pauline,  "to  have  unconsciously  made  you 
think  ill  of  the  literary  society  of  New  York." 
She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  there  was  a  re- 
buking solemnity  in  her  voice  as  she  added :  "  I 
believe  —  I  insist  upon  believing  till  I  see  other- 
wise— that  it  does  not  deserve  to  be  condemned." 


VL 

footman  was  now  heard,  as  he  sprang 
from  the  box.  "  Good  gracious !  "  exclaimed 
Kindelon ;  "  I  have  n't  condemned  it !  It  con- 
demns itself." 

Pauline  gave  a  laugh  full  of  accusative  satire. 
"Oh!"  she  burst  forth.  "I  should  like  to  hear 
you  speak  against  it  before  Mrs.  Dares  — and  your 
friend  Miss  Cora,  too  —  as  you  have  just  done 
before  me ! " 

The  footman  had  by  this  time  opened  the  car- 
riage door.  He  kept  one  white-gloved  hand  on 
the  knob,  standing,  with  his  cockaded  hat  and  his 
long-skirted  coat,  motionless  and  respectful  in  the 
outer  gloom. 

Kindelon  threw  up  both  hands,  and  waved  them 
in  a  burlesque  of  despair.  "  There  is  no  literary 
society  in  New  York,"  he  murmured,  as  if  the 
admission  had  been  wrung  from  him.  "  Don't  go 
inside  there  with  any  idea  of  meeting  it,  for  it  is 
not  to  be  found !  Mrs.  Dares  herseJf  will  tell 

you  so !  " 

ill 


112       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

Pauline  shook  her  head  vigorously.  "  I  'm  sure 
you  can't  mean  that,"  she  exclaimed,  in  grieved 
reproach. 

Ivindelon  gave  one  of  his  laughs,  and  jumped 
out  of  the  carriage.  Pauline  took  the  hand  which 
he  offered  her,  while  the  displaced  footman  dec- 
orously receded. 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  he  said,  as  they  went  up  a  high, 
narrow  stoop  together,  and  saw  two  slim,  lit  win- 
dows loom  before  them. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  responsible  for  this  last 
change  of  faith  in  you,"  she  answered,  while 
Ivindelon  was  ringing  the  bell. 

"  Well,"  he  at  once  said,  "  I  believe  you  are. 
There  is  no  kind  of  real  society  here  except  one. 
Mind  you,  I  don't  say  this  in  any  but  the  most 
dispassionate  and  critical  way.  And  I  'in  not  glad 
to  say  it,  either ;  I  'm  sorry,  in  fact.  But  it  is 
true" — And  then,  after  a  second  of  silence,  he 
repeated  —  "  no  kind  of  society  except  one." 

Pauline  smiled  as  she  watched  him,  but  there 
was  both  exasperation  and  challenge  in  the  smile. 

"  What  kind  is  that  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  Ask  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,"  he  re- 
plied. 

Pauline  gave  an  irritated  sigh.  As  she  did  so 
the  door  of  Mrs.  Dares's  house  was  opened  by  a 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       113 

spruce-looking  young  negress,  and  they  both 
passed  into  the  little  limited  hall  beyond.  Tapes- 
tries of  tasteful  design  were  looped  back  from 
the  small  doors  which  gave  upon  the  hall.  Their 
blended  stuffs  of  different  colors  produced  a 
novel  effect,  wholly  disproportioned  to  the  real 
worth  of  the  fabrics  themselves.  The  deft  skill 
of  Mrs.  Dares's  younger  daughter  was  responsible, 
not  alone  for  these,  but  for  other  equally  happy 
embellishments  throughout  this  delightful  minia- 
ture dwelling.  In  every  chamber  there  was  to  be 
found  some  pretty  decorative  stratagem  whereby 
a  maximum  of  graceful  and  even  brilliant  orna- 
mentation had  been  won  from  a  minimum  of 
pecuniary  expense.  Pauline's  eye  had  swept  too 
many  costly  objects  of  upholstery  not  to  recog- 
nize that  a  slender  purse  had  here  gone  with  a 
keen  artistic  sense.  The  true  instinct  of  beauty 
seemed  never  to  err,  and  its  constant  accompani- 
ment of  simplicity  in  the  way  of  actual  material 
lent  it  a  new  charm.  Screen,  rug,  panelling, 
mantel-cover,  tidy,  and  chair-cushion  took  for  her 
a  quick  value  because  of  their  being  wrought 
through  no  luxurious  means.  It  was  so  easy  to 
buy  all  these  things  in  velvet,  in  silk,  in  choice 
woods ;  it  was  so  hard,  so  rare,  to  be  able  to  plan 
them  all  from  less  pretentious  resources.  Before 


114       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

she  had  been  five  minutes  in  Mrs.  Dares's  abode, 
Pauline  found  herself  affected  by  the  mingled 
attractiveness  and  modesty  of  its  details,  as  we  are 
allured  by  the  tints,  contours,  and  even  perfumes 
of  certain  wildflowers  which  glow  only  the  more 
sweetly  because  of  their  contrast  with  cultured 
blooms. 

Mrs.  Dares  herself  had  a  look  not  unlike  that  of 
some  timid  little  wildflower.  She  was  short  of 
stature  and  very  fragile ;  Kindelon's  past  accounts 
of  her  incessant  accomplishments  took  the  hue  of 
fable  as  Pauline  gazed  upon  her.  She  was  ex- 
tremely pale,  with  large,  warm,  dark  eyes  set  in  a 
face  of  cameo-like  delicacy.  Her  dress  hung  in 
folds  about  her  slight  person,  as  if  there  had  been 
some  pitying  motive  in  the  looseness  of  its  fit. 
But  she  wore  it  with  an  air  of  her  own.  It  was  a 
timid  air,  and  yet  it  was  one  of  ease  and  repose. 
The  intelligence  and  earnestness  of  her  clear-cut 
face  gave  her  an  undeniable  dignity ;  you  soon 
became  sure  that  she  was  wholly  unassuming,  but 
you  as  soon  realized  that  this  trait  of  diffidence 
had  no  weakness  in  mind  or  character  for  its 
cause.  It  seemed,  in  truth,  to  correspond  with 
her  bodily  frailty,  and  to  make  her  individualism 
more  complete  while  none  the  less  emphatic.  The 
personality  that  pushes  itself  upon  our  heed  does 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       115 

not  always  make  us  notice  it  the  quickest.  Mrs. 
Dares  never  pushed  herself  upon  anybody's  heed, 
yet  she  was  seldom  unnoticed.  Her  voice  rarely 
passed  beyond  a  musical  semitone,  and  yet  you 
rarely  failed  to  catch  each  word  it  uttered.  Pau- 
line not  only  caught  each  word,  as  her  new 
hostess  now  stood  and  addressed  her,  leaving  for 
the  time  all  other  guests  who  were  crowding  the 
rather  meagre  apartments,  but  she  tacitly  decided, 
as  well,  that  there  was  an  elegance  and  purity  in 
the  expressions  used  by  this  notable  little  lady 
which  some  of  the  grander-mannered  dames 
whom  she  had  intimately  known  might  have 
copied  with  profit.  One  peculiarity  about  Mrs. 
Dares,  however,  was  not  slow  to  strike  her :  the 
pale,  delicate  face  never  smiled.  Not  that  it  was 
melancholy  or  even  uncheerful,  but  simply  serious. 
Mrs.  Dares  had  no  sense  of  humor.  She  could 
sometimes  say  a  witty  thing  that  bit  hard  and 
sharp,  but  she  was  without  any  power  to  wear 
that  lazier  mental  fatigue-dress  from  which  some 
of  the  most  vigorous  minds  have  been  unable, 
before  hers,  to  win  the  least  relaxation.  This  was 
probably  the  true  reason  why  her  small  drawing- 
room  often  contained  guests  whose  eccentricity  of 
garb  or  deportment  would  otherwise  have  ex- 
cluded them  from  her  civilities.  She  could  not 


116        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

enjoy  the  foibles  of  her  fellow-creatures  ;  she  was 
too  perpetually  busy  in  taking  a  grave  view  of 
their  sterner  and  more  rational  traits.  She  found 
something  in  nearly  everybody  that  interested  her, 
and  it  always  interested  her  because  it  was  human, 
solemn,  important  —  a  part,  so  to  speak,  of  the 
great  struggle,  the  great  development,  the  great 
problem.  This  may,  after  all,  be  no  real  explana- 
tion of  why  she  never  smiled ;  for  a  smile,  as  we 
know,  can  hold  the  sadness  of  tears  in  its  gleam, 
just  as  a  drop  of  morning  dew  will  hold  the  mois- 
ture of  the  autumn  rainfall.  But  the  absence  of 
all  mirthful  trace  on  her  gentle  lips  accorded,  nev- 
ertheless, with  the  inherent  sobriety  of  her  nature, 
and  they  who  got  to  know  her  well  would  uncon- 
sciously assign  for  both  a  common  origin. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Varick,"  she  said  to  Pauline, 
"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  chose  to  seek  my  poor 
hospitality  this  evening.  Mr.  Kindelon  has  al- 
ready prophesied  that  we  shall  be  good  friends, 
and  as  I  look  at  you  I  find  myself  beginning  to 
form  a  most  presumptuous  certainty  that  he  will 
not  prove  a  false  prophet.  He  tells  me  that  you 
are  weary  of  the  fashionable  world ;  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  that,  myself,  though  I  fancy  I  know 
what  it  is  like.  —  A  great  Castle  of  Indolence, 
I  mean,  where  there  are  many  beautiful  chambers, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       117 

but  where  the  carpets  yield  too  luxuriously  under 
foot,  and  the  couches  have  too  inviting  a  breadth. 
Now,  in  this  little  drawing-room  of  mine  you  will 
meet  few  people  who  have  not  some  daily  task  to 
perform  —  however  ill  many  of  us  may  accom- 
plish it.  In  that  way  the  change  will  have  an 
accent  for  you  —  the  air  will  be  fresher  and  more 
tonic,  though  shifting  from  warm  to  chilly  in  the 
most  irregular  manner.  I  want  to  warn  you,  my 
dear,  lacty,  that  you  will  miss  that  evenness  of 
temperature  which  makes  such  easy  breathing 
elsewhere.  Be  prepared  for  a  decided  atmospheric 
shock,  now  and  then :  but  you  will  find  it  rather 
stimulating  when  it  arrives,  and  by  no  means  un- 
wholesome." 

Pauline  could  scarcely  repress  her  astonishment 
at  this  very  original  speech  of  welcome.  She  and 
Mrs.  Dares  were  separated  from  all  other  occu- 
pants of  the  room  while  it  was  being  delivered ; 
Kindelon  had  moved  away  after  making  his  two 
friends  known  to  each  other,  and  doubtless  with 
the  intention  of  letting  his  hostess  stand  or  fall 
on  her  own  conversational  merits,  as  far  as  con- 
cerned the  first  impression  which  Pauline  should 
receive  from  her.  But  this  impression  was  one  in 
which  admiration  and  approval  played  quite  as 
strong  a  part  as  surprise.  Pauline  had  wanted  just 


118       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

sucli  a  spur  and  impetus  as  her  faculties  were  now 
receiving;  she  kept  silent  for  a  few  brief  seconds, 
in  silent  enjoyment  of  the  complex  emotions 
which  Mrs.  Dares  had  wakened.  Then  she  said, 
with  a  low  laugh  that  had  not  the  least  suspicion 
of  frivolity,  — 

"  If  it  is  a  social  temperature  with  those  baro- 
metric tricks  and  freaks,  Mrs.  Dares,  I  promise 
you  that  I  shan't  catch  cold  in  it.  But  I  fear  Mr. 
Kindelon  has  wasted  too  many  premonitory  words 
upon  me.  He  should  have  politely  allowed  me 
to  betray  myself,  as  a  specimen  of  harmless  and 
humble  commonplace.  I  am  sure  to  do  it 
sooner  or  later." 

"  Oh,  he  has  told  me  of  your  aim,  your  purpose," 
said  Mrs.  Dares. 

Pauline  colored,  and  laid  one  hand  on  the  lady's 
slender  arm.  "  Then  we  are  rivals,  I  suppose  ?  " 
she  murmured,  with  an  arch  smile. 

Mrs.  Dares  turned  and  looked  at  her  guest  be- 
fore answering;  there  was  a  mild,  dreamy  com- 
prehensiveness in  the  way  she  seemed  to  survey 
their  many  shapes,  letting  her  large,  soft,  dusky 
eyes  dwell  upon  no  special  one  of  them.  A  little 
later  she  regarded  Pauline  again.  She  now  shook 
her  head  negatively  before  replying. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  said.     "  What  you  see  here  is 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       119 

not  in  any  sense  a  representative  assemblage.  I 
have  often  wished  that  some  one  would  establish 
a  stricter  and  more  definite  standard  than  mine. 
We  need  it  sadly.  There  are  no  entertainments 
given  in  New  York  where  the  mentally  alert  peo- 
ple —  those  who  read,  and  think,  and  write  —  can 
meet  with  an  assurance  that  their  company  has 
been  desired  for  reasons  of  an  exceptional  personal 
valuation.  The  guest  without  the  wedding-gar- 
ment is  always  certain  to  be  there.  I  fear  that  I 
have  paid  too  little  heed  to  the  wedding-garment ; 
my  daughters  —  and  especially  my  eldest  daughter, 
Martha  —  are  always  telling  me  that,  in  various 
ways.  —  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Varick,  we  shall  not  be 
rivals.  You  will  have  the  leisure  to  sift,  to  weigh, 
to  admit  or  exclude,  to  label,  to  indorse,  to  clas- 
sify—  to  make  order,  in  short,  out  of  chaos.  This 
I  have  never  had  the  leisure  to  do."  She  looked 
at  Pauline  with  an  almost  pensive  gravity.  Then 
she  slowly  repeated  the  word,  "  Never." 

"  I  fancy  you  have  never  had  the  cruelty,"  said 
Pauline. 

"There  would  be  considerable  solid  mercy  in 
it,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

"Yes.  To  those  who  were  both  called  and 
chosen.  But  how  about  the  repulsed  candidates 
for  admission  ?  " 


120        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"They  would  deserve  their  defeat,"  said  Mrs. 
Dares,  with  thoughtful  deliberation.  "  Morals  and 
manners  properly  combined  would  be  their  sole 
passport." 

"  And  ability,"  amended  Pauline. 

"Ability?  Oh,  they  all  have  ability  who  care 
to  mingle  night  after  night  where  that  qualifi- 
cation is  the  dominating  necessity  for  mutual  en- 
joyment. Remember,  an  organized  literary  and 
intellectual  society  would  not  demand  what  that 
other  society,  of  which  you  have  seen  so  much, 
imperatively  demands.  I  mean  wealth,  position, 
modishness,  ton.  All  these  would  go  for  nothing 
with  an  aristocracy  of  talent,  of  high  and  true 
culture,  of  progress,  of  fine  and  wise  achievement 
in  all  domains  where  human  thought  held  rule. 
There,  gross  egotism,  priggishness,  raw  eccen- 
tricity, false  assumption  of  leadership,  facile  jeal- 
ousy, dogmatic  intolerance  —  these,  and  a  hun- 
dred other  faults,  would  justly  exert  a  debarring 
influence." 

Pauline  did  not  know  how  her  cheeks  were 
glowing  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling  as  she  now 
quickly  said,  after  having  swept  her  gaze  along 
the  groups  of  guests  not  far  away. 

"  And  this  is  what  you  call  making  order  out  of 
chaos?  Ah,  yes,  I  understand.  It  is  very  de- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       121 

rightful  to  contemplate.  It  quite  stirs  one  with 
ambition.  It  is  like  having  the  merciless  and 
senseless  snobbery  of  mere  fashionable  life  given 
a  reasonable,  animating  motive.  I  should  like  to 
take  upon  myself  such  a  task."  Here  she  sud- 
denly frowned  in  a  moderate  but  rather  distressed 
way.  "Not  long  ago,"  she  went  on,  "Mr.  Kin- 
delon  told  me  that  I  would  find  no  literary  society 
in  New  York.  But  I  contested  this  point.  I  'm 
inclined  to  contest  it  still,  though  you  have  shaken 
my  faith,  I  admit." 

"  The  word  '  literary '  is  very  specializing,"  said 
Mrs.  Dares.  She  had  drooped  her  large,  musing 
eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  for  an  evasion  ? "  asked 
Pauline  with  a  tart  pungency  that  she  at  once 
regretted  as  almost  discourteous.  "Allow,"  she 
went  on,  promptly  softening  her  tone,  "that  the 
word  does  cover  a  multitude  of  definitions  as  I 
use  it  —  that  it  is  used  faute  de  mieux,  and  that 
no  society  has  ever  existed  anywhere  which  one 
could  call  strictly  literary.  Come,  then,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Dares,  allowing  all  this,  do  you  consider  that 
Mr.  Kindelon  was  right  ?  Is  it  all  chaos  to-day  in 
New  York?  Is  there  no  gleam  of  order?"  And 
here  Pauline  broke  into  a  furtive  tremor  of  laugh- 
ter. "Must  I  begin  my  good  work  at  the  very 


122       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

earliest  possible  beginning  if  I  am  to  commence 
at  all?" 

Mrs.  Dares's  dark  eyes  seemed  to  smile  now,  if 
her  lips  did  not.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Kinde- 
lon  was  right.  You  are  to  begin  at  the  very 
beginning.  —  In  London  it  is  so  different,"  she 
went  on,  lapsing  into  the  meditative  seriousness 
from  which  nothing  could  permanently  distract  her. 
"  I  spent  a  happy  and  memorable  month  there  not 
many  years  ago.  It  was  a  delicious  holiday,  taken 
because  of  overwork  here  at  home,  and  a  blessed 
medicine  I  found  it.  I  had  brought  with  me  a 
few  lucky  letters.  They  opened  doors  to  me, 
and  beyond  those  doors  I  met  faces  and  voices 
full  of  a  precious  welcome.  You  would  know  the 
names  of  not  a  few  of  those  who  were  gracious  to 
me;  they  are  names  that  are  household  words. 
And  there,  in  London,  I  saw,  strongly  established,  a 
dignified,  important  and  influential  society.  Rare- 
ly, once  in  a  while,  I  met  some  man  or  woman 
with  a  title,  but  he  or  she  had  always  either  done 
something  to  win  the  title,  or  something  —  if  it 
was  inherited  —  to  outshine  it.  I  did  not  stay  long 
enough  to  pick  flaws,  to  cavil ;  I  enjoyed  and 
appreciated  —  and  I  have  never  forgotten  !  " 

Just  at  this  point,  and  somewhat  to  Pauline's 
secret  annoyance,  Kindelon  returned  with  a  lady 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       123 

at  his  side.  Pauline  was  soon  told  the  lady's 
name,  and  as  she  heard  it  her  annoyance  was 
swiftly  dissipated  by  a  new  curiosity.  She  at 
once  concluded  that  Miss  Cora  Dares  bore  very 
slight  resemblance  to  her  mother.  She  was  taller, 
and  her  figure  was  of  a  full  if  not  generous 
moulding.  Her  rippled  chestnut  hair  grew  low 
over  the  forehead;  almost  too  low  for  beauty, 
though  her  calm,  straight-featured  face,  lit  by  a 
pair  of  singularly  luminous  blue  eyes,  and  ending 
in  a  deep-dimpled  chin  of  exquisite  symmetry, 
needed  but  a  glance  to  make  good  its  attractive 
claim.  Miss  Cora  Dares  was  quite  profuse  in  her 
smiles ;  she  gave  Pauline,  while  taking  the  latter's 
hand,  a  very  bright  and  charming  one,  which  made 
her  look  still  less  like  her  mother. 

"  We  saw  you  and  mamma  talking  very  ear- 
nestly together,  Mrs.  Varick,"  she  said,  with  a  brief 
side-glance  toward  Kindelon,  "and  so  we  con- 
cluded that  it  would  be  safe  to  leave  you  undis- 
turbed for  at  least  a  little  while.  But  mamma  is 
curiously  unsafe  as  an  entertainer."  This  was  said 
with  an  extremely  sweet  and  amiable  look  in  Mrs. 
Dares's  direction.  "  She  sometimes  loses  herself 
in  gentle  rhapsodies.  My  sister  Martha  and  I 
have  to  keep  watch  upon  her  by  turns,  out  of  pity 
for  the  unliberated  victims." 


124       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  scorn  the  injustice 
of  that  charge,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dares !  "  here  cried 
Kindelon.  "  It  would  be  late  in  the  day  to  inform 
you  of  my  devoted  admiration  !  " 

"  I  fear  it  is  early  in  the  day  for  me  to  speak  of 
mine,"  said  Pauline ;  but  the  laugh  that  went 
with  her  words  (or  was  it  the  words  themselves  ?) 
rang  sincerely,  and  took  from  what  she  said  the 
levity  of  mere  idle  compliment. 

"  But  you  will  surely  care  to  meet  some  of  our 
friends,  Mrs.  Varick,"  now  said  Cora  Dares. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,  yes ! "  exclaimed  Pauline. 
The  girl's  limpid,  steadfast  eyes  fascinated  her, 
and  she  gazed  into  their  lucent  depths  longer  than 
she  was  perhaps  aware.  It  was  almost  like  an  ab- 
rupt awakening  to  find  that  she  and  Mrs.  Dares's 
youngest  daughter  were  standing  alone  together, 
Kindelon  and  the  elder  lady  having  gone.  "I 
want  very  much  to  meet  many  of  your  friends," 
Pauline  proceeded.  She  put  her  head  a  little  on 
one  side,  while  her  lips  broke  into  a  smile  that 
her  companion  appeared  to  understand  perfectly 
and  to  answer  with  mute,  gay  intelligence.  "I 
suppose  you  have  heard  all  about  me  and  my 
grand  project,  just  as  your  charming  mother  has 
heard,  Miss  Dares  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Cora. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       125 

"  And  you  think  it  practicable  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  praiseworthy." 

"  Which  means  that  I  shall  fail." 

Cora  looked  humorously  troubled.  "  If  you  do, 
it  will  not  be  your  fault.  I  am  not  doubtful  on 
that  point." 

"  Your  mother  has  by  no  means  encouraged  me. 
She  says  that  I  must  be  careful  in  my  selections, 
but  she  gives  me  very  little  hope  of  finding  many 
worthy  subjects  to  select.  She  seems  to  think  that 
when  the  wheat  has  been  taken  from  the  tares,  as 
it  were,  there  will  be  very  little  wheat  left." 

"  Yes,  I  know  mamma's  opinions.  I  don't  quite 
share  them.  My  sister  Martha  does,  however, 
thoroughly.  —  Ah,  here  is  Martha  now.  Let  me 
make  you  acquainted." 

Martha  Dares  proved  to  be  still  more  unlike  her 
mother  than  Cora,  save  as  regarded  her  stature, 
which  was  very  short.  She  had  a  plump  person, 
and  a  face  which  was  prepossessing  solely  from  its 
expression  of  honest  good-nature.  It  was  a  face 
whose  fat  cheeks,  merry  little  black  eyes  and 
shapeless  nose  were  all  a  stout  defiance  of  the 
classic  type.  Pauline  at  once  decided  that  Martha 
was  shrewd,  energetic  and  cheerful,  and  that  she 
might  reveal,  under  due  provocation,  a  temper  of 
hot  flash  and  acute  sting. 


126       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"And  now  you  know  the  whole  family,  Mrs. 
Varick,"  said  Cora,  when  her  sister  had  been  pre- 
sented. 

"  Yes,  I  complete  the  group,"  said  Miss  Dares, 
with  a  jocund  trip  of  the  tongue  about  her  speech, 
that  suggested  a  person  who  did  all  her  thinking 
in  the  same  fleet  and  impetuous  way.  "I  hope 
you  find  it  an  interesting  group,  Mrs.  Varick?  " 

"  Very,"  said  Pauline.  "  Its  members  have  so 
much  individuality.  They  are  all  three  so  differ- 
ent." 

"True  enough,"  hurried  Martha.  "We  react 
upon  each  other,  for  this  reason,  in  a  very  salutary 
way.  You  've  no  idea  what  a  corrective  agent  my 
practical  turn  is  for  this  poetic  sister  of  mine,  who 
would  be  up  in  the  clouds  nearly  all  the  time, 
trying  to  paint  the  unpaintable,  but  for  an  occa- 
sional downward  jerk  from  me,  you  know,  such 
as  a  boy  will  give  to  a  refractory  kite.  But  I  '11 
grant  you  that  Cora  has  more  than  partially  con- 
vinced me  that  life  is  n?t  entirely  made  up  of  spell- 
ing, arithmetic,  geography  and  the  use  of  the 
globes  —  for  I'm  a  school-teacher,  please  under- 
stand, though  in  a  rather  humble  way.  And 
there 's  poor  dear  mamma.  Goodness  knows  what 
would  become  of  her  if  it  were  not  for  both  of 
us.  She  hasn't  an  idea  how  to  economize  her 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       127 

wonderful  powers  of  work.  Cora  and  I  have  es- 
tablished a  kind  of  military  despotism ;  we  have 
to  say  '  halt '  and  '  shoulder  your  pen,'  just  as  if 
she  were  a  sort  of  soldier.  But  it  will  never  do 
for  me  to  rattle  on  like  this.  I'  m  as  bad,  after 
my  own  fashion,  as  our  mutual  friend,  Mr.  Kinde- 
lon,  when  I  once  really  get  started,  By  the  way, 
you  know  Mr.  Kindelon  very  well  indeed,  don't 
you?" 

"  Very  well,  though  I  have  not  known  him  very 
long,"  answered  Pauline. 

She  somehow  felt  that  Martha's  question  con- 
cealed more  interest  than  its  framer  wished  to 
betray.  The  little  black  eyes  had  taken  a  new 
keenness,  but  the  genial  face  had  sobered  as  well. 
And  for  some  reason  just  at  this  point  both  Mar- 
tha and  Pauline  turned  their  looks  upon  Cora. 

She  had  slightly  flushed ;  the  change,  however, 
was  scarcely  noticeable.  She  at  once  spoke,  as 
though  being  thus  observed  had  made  her  speak. 

"He  always  has  something  pleasant  to  say  of 
you,"  softly  declared  Cora.  Here  she  turned  to 
her  sister.  "  Will  you  bring  up  some  people  to 
Mrs.  Varick,"  she  asked,  "  or  shall  I  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  as  you  choose,"  answered  Martha. 
She  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  Pauline  again.  The 
next  moment  Cora  had  glided  off. 


128       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"What  my  sister  says  is  quite  true,"  affirmed 
Martha. 

"  You  mean  —  ?  "  Pauline  questioned,  with  a 
faint  start  which  she  could  scarcely  have  ex- 
plained. 

"  That  Mr.  Kindelon  admires  you  very  much." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  Pauline,  think- 
ing how  commonplace  the  sentence  sounded,  and 
at  the  same  time  feeling  her  color  rise  and  deepen 
under  the  persistent  scrutiny  of  those  sharp  dark 
eyes. 

"  Don't  you  think  him  intensely  able  ? "  said 
Martha,  much  more  slowly  than  usual.  "  We  do." 

Pauline  bowed  assent.  "  Brilliantly  able,"  she 
answered.  "  Tell  me,  Miss  Dares,  with  which  of 
you  is  he  the  more  intimate,  your  sister  or  your- 
self?" 

Martha  gave  a  laugh  that  was  crisp  and  curt. 
She  looked  away  from  Pauline  as  she  answered. 
"Oh,  he's  more  intimate  with  me  than  with 
Cora,"  she  said.  "  We  are  stanch  friends.  He 
tells  me  nearly  everything.  I  think  he  would  tell 
me  if  he  were  to  fall  in  love." 

"Really?"  laughed  Pauline.  Her  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles  of  apparent  amusement.  She 
looked,  just  then,  as  she  had  often  looked  in  the 
fashionable  world,  when  everything  around  her 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       129 

seemed  so  artificial  that  she  took  the  tints  of  her 
environment  and  became  as  artificial  herself. 

But  it  pleased  her  swiftly  to  change  the  subject. 
"  I  am  quite  excited  this  evening,"  she  went  on. 
"I  am  beginning  a  new  career;  you  understand, 
of  course.  Tell  me,  Miss  Dares,  how  do  you  think 
I  shall  succeed  in  it  ?  " 

Martha  was  watching  her  fixedly.  And  Martha's 
reply  had  a  short,  odd  sound.  "  I  think  you  are 
almost  clever  enough  not  to  fail,"  she  said. 


VII. 

"DEFORE  Pauline  had  been  an  hour  longer  in 
~^~^  the  Dares's  drawing-room  she  had  become 
acquainted  with  many  new  people.  She  could 
not  count  them  all  when  she  afterward  tried  to  do 
so;  the  introductions  had  been  very  rapid  for 
some  little  time ;  one,  so  to  speak,  had  trodden 
upon  the  heel  of  another.  Her  meditated  project 
had  transpired,  and  not  a  few  of  her  recent  ac- 
quaintances eyed  her  with  a  critical  estimate  of 
her  capability  to  become  their  future  leader. 

She  soon  found  herself  an  object  of  such  gen- 
eral scrutiny  that  she  was  in  danger  of  growing 
embarrassed  to  the  verge  of  actual  bewilderment. 
She  was  now  the  centre  of  a  little  group,  and 
every  member  of  it  regarded  her  witli  more  or 
less  marked  attentiveness. 

"I've   a   tragic    soul   in   a   comic   body,    Mrs. 

Varick,"  said  a  fat  little  spinster,  with  a  round 

moon  of  a  face  and  a  high  color,  whose  name  was 

Miss  Upton.   "That  is  the  way  I  announce  myself 

130 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       131 

to  all  strangers.  I  should  have  gone  on  the  stage 
and  played  Juliet  if  it  had  n't  been  for  my  un- 
poetic  person.  But  imagine  a  bouncing,  obese 
Juliet!  No;  I  realized  that  it  would  never  do. 
I  shall  have  to  die  with  all  my  music  in  me,  as  it 
were." 

"A  great  many  poets  have  done  that,"  said  a  pale 
young  gentleman  with  very  black  hair  and  eyes, 
and  an  expression  of  ironical  fatigue  which  seldom 
varied.  He  was  Mr.  Leander  Prawle,  and  he  was 
known  to  have  written  verses  for  which  he  himself 
had  unbounded  admiration.  "  Indeed,"  the  young 
poet  continued,  lifting  one  thin,  white  hand  to 
where  his  moustache  was  not  yet,  "  it  is  hard  to 
sing  a  pure  and  noble  song  with  the  discords  of 
daily  life  about  one." 

"Not  if  you  can  make  the  world  stop  its  dis- 
cords and  listen  to  you,  Mr.  Prawle,"  said  Paul- 
ine. 

"  Oh,  Prawle  can  never  do  that,"  said  a  broad- 
shouldered  young  blond,  with  a  face  full  of  drowsy 
reverie  and  hair  rolled  back  from  it  in  a  sort  of 
yellow  mane.  "  He 's  always  writing  transcen- 
dental verses  about  Man  with  a  capital  M  and  the 
grand  amelioration  of  Humanity  with  a  capital  II. 
Prawle  has  no  color.  He  hates  an  adjective  as  if 
it  were  a  viper.  He  should  have  lived  with  me  in 


132       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

the  Quartier  Latin ;  he  should  have  read,  studied 
and  loved  the  divine  The'ophile  Gautier  —  most 
perfect  of  all  French  poets ! " 

The  speaker  fixed  his  sleepy  blue  eyes  upon 
Leander  Prawle  while  he  thus  spoke.  A  slight 
smile  touched  his  lips,  leaving  a  faint  dimple  in 
either  smooth  oval  cheek.  He  was  certainly  very 
handsome,  in  an  unconventional,  audacious  way. 
His  collar  gave  a  lower  glimpse  of  his  firm  yet  soft 
throat  than  usage  ordinarily  sanctions ;  the  back- 
ward wave  of  his  hair  was  certainly  against  any 
conceded  form.  He  had  been  made  known  to 
Pauline  as  Mr.  Arthur  Trevor,  and  she  had  felt 
surprised  at  his  name  being  so  English ;  she  had 
expected  to  find  it  French;  Mr.  Trevor  had  ap- 
peared to  her  extremely  French. 

"  "When  you  speak  of  Paris  and  of  Gautier,"  she 
now  said  to  him,  "you  really  relieve  me,  Mr. 
Trevor.  I  was  so  prepared,  on  first  meeting  you, 
to  find  that  you  were  not  an  American." 

"Oh,  Trevor  is  very  French,"  said  Leander 
Prawle  coldly. 

Trevor  laughed,  lifting  one  hand,  on  the  middle 
finger  of  which  was  the  tawny  tell-tale  mark  of 
the  confirmed  cigarette-smoker. 

"  And  my  friend,  Prawle,"  he  said,  "  is  enor- 
mously English." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       133 

"Not  English  —  American,"  slowly  corrected 
Leander  Prawle. 

"It  is  the  same  thing!"  cried  Arthur  Trevor. 
"He  is  cold-blooded,  Mrs.  Varick,"  the  young 
gentleman  continued,  with  emphasis  and  a  certain 
excitement.  "  We  are  always  fighting,  Prawle 
and  I.  I  tell  Prawle  that  in  his  own  beloved 
literature,  he  should  have  but  one  model  outside 
of  Shakespeare.  That  is  Keats  —  the  sweet,  sen- 
suous, adorable  Keats." 

"I  loathe  Keats,"  said  Leander  Prawle,  as  if  he 
were  repeating  some  fragment  of  a  litany.  "I 
think  him  a  word-monger." 

"Aha,"  laughed  Arthur  Trevor,  showing  his 
white,  sound  teeth,  "  Keats  was  an  immense 
genius.  He  knew  the  art  of  expression." 

"And  he  expressed  nothing,"  said  Leander 
Prawle. 

"  He  expressed  beauty,"  declared  Trevor.  "  Po- 
etry is  that.  There  is  nothing  else.  Even  the 
great  master,  Hugo,  would  tell  you  so." 

"Hugo  is  a  mere  rhapsodist,"  said  Leander 
Prawle. 

Trevor  laughed  again.  He  gave  a  comic,  ex- 
aggerated shudder  while  he  did  so.  Pie  now 
exclusively  addressed  Pauline.  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Varick,"  he  said,  "  are  you  not  horrified  ?  " 


134       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

Before  Pauline  could  answer,  the  fat  little  Miss 
Upton  spoke.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Trevor,"  she  said,  "  you 
know  that  though  you  and  Mr.  Prawle  are  always 
quarrelling  about  poetry,  and  belong  to  two  dif- 
ferent schools,  still,  each  of  you,  in  his  way,  is 
admirable.  You  are  the  North  and  South  poles." 

41  No,"  said  Arthur  Trevor,  "  for  the  North  and 
South  poles  i>ever  come  together,  while  Prawle 
and  I  are  continually  clashing." 

"It  looks  very  much  as  if  chaos  were  the 
result,"  said  Pauline. 

Arthur  Trevor  gazed  at  her  reproachfully. 
"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  that,"  he  said.  He  put 
his  arm  while  he  spoke,  about  the  neck  of  a  short 
and  fleshy  man,  with  a  bald,  pink  scalp  and  a  pair 
of  dull,  uneasy  eyes.  "  Here  is  our  friend,  Rufus 
Corson,"  he  continued.  "  Rufus  has  not  spoken  a 
word  to  you  since  he  was  presented,  Mrs.  Varick. 
But  he 's  a  tremendously  important  fellow.  He 
does  n't  look  it,  but  he  is  the  poet  of  death, 
decay,  and  horror." 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  murmured  Pauline  play- 
fully. 

"  It  is  true,"  pursued  Arthur  Trevor.  "  Rufus, 
here,  is  a  wonderful  fellow,  and  he  has  written 
some  verses  that  will  one  day  make  him  famous  as 
the  American  Baudelaire." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       135 

"I  have  not  read  Baudelaire,"  said  Pauline. 

Mr.  Corson  at  once  answered  her.  He  spoke  in 
a  forced,  loitering  way.  He  wore  the  dress  of  a 
man  who  scorns  all  edicts  of  mode,  and  yet  he 
was  very  commonplace  in  appearance. 

"  The  literature  of  the  present  age  is  in  a 
state  of  decadence,"  he  said.  Mr.  Corson,  himself, 
looked  to  be  in  a  state-  of  plump  prosperity ;  even 
his  rosy  baldness  had  a  vivid  suggestion  of  youth 
and  of  the  enjoyments  which  youth  bestows.  "  I 
write  hopelessly,"  he  continued,  "because  I  live 
in  a  hopeless  time.  My  '  Sonnet  to  a  Skull '  has 
been  praised,  because  "  — 

"  It  has  not  been  praised,"  said  Leander  Prawle 
firmly  and  severely. 

Mr.  Corson  regarded  Prawle  with  an  amused 
pity.  "  It  has  been  praised  by  people  whom  you 
don't  know,"  he  said,  "and  who  don't  want  to 
know  you." 

"It  is  horrible,"  enunciated  Leander  Prawle, 
while  he  appealingly  rolled  toward  Pauline  his 
dark  eyes,  which  the  confirmed  pallor  of  his  face 
made  still  darker.  "Mrs.  Varick,"  he  went  on, 
"  I  am  sure  that  you  will  agree  with  me  in  assert- 
ing that  skulls  and  skeletons  and  disease  are  not 
fit  subjects  for  poetical  treatment." 

"Yes,"  answered  Pauline,  "I  think  that  they  are 


136       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

not  beautiful  —  and  for  this  reason  I  should  con- 
demn them." 

"Then  you  will  make  a  great  mistake,  Mrs. 
Varick,"  now  quickly  interposed  Arthur  Trevor. 
He  passed  one  hand  backward  along  the  yellow 
mane  of  his  hair  while  he  thus  spoke.  But  he 
still  kept  an  arm  about  the  neck  of  his  friend, 
Corsou.  "I  maintain,"  he  continued,  " that  Cor- 
son  has  a  perfect  right  to  sing  of  autumnal  things. 
A  corpse  is  as  legitimate  a  subject  as  a  sunset. 
They  are  both  morbid ;  they  both  mean  what  is 
moribund." 

"  Oh,  but  they  are  so  different ! "  exclaimed  the 
fat  Miss  Upton.  "  One  is  the  work  of  Gawd,  to 
delight  man,  and  the  other  is — oh,  dear!  the 
other  is  —  well,  it 's  only  a  mere  dead  body ! 
None  of  the  great  poets  have  ever  written 
in  that  dreadful  style,  Mr.  Trevor.  Of  course, 
I  know  that  Mr.  Corson  has  done  some  pow- 
erful work,  but  is  it  right  to  give  people  the 
shudders  and  horrors,  as  he  does?  Why  not 
have  sunshine  in  poetry,  instead  of  gloom  and 
misery  ?  " 

"Sunshine  is  commonplace,"  said  Arthur  Tre- 
vor. 

"  Very,"  said  Mr.  Corson. 

"Sunshine    means    hope,"     declared    Leandcr 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       137 

Prawle.  "  It  means  evolution,  development,  pro- 
gress." 

"  Art  is  art !  "  cried  Trevor.  "  Sing  of  what  you 
please,  so  long  as  your  technique  is  good,  so  long 
as  you  have  the  right  chic,  the  right  facon,  the 
right  way  of  putting  things  !  " 

"True,"  said  Corson.  "I  write  of  skulls  and 
corpses  because  you  can  get  new  effects  out  of 
them.  They  haven't  been  done  to  death,  like 
faith,  and  philanthropy,  and  freedom.  Optimism 
is  so  tiresome,  nowadays.  All  the  Greeks  are 
dead.  Notre  Dame  stands  intact,  but  the  Par- 
thenon is  a  ruin." 

Leander  Prawle  shivered.  "  You  can  make 
clever  rhymes  about  charnel-houses,"  he  said, 
"but  that  is  not  poetry.  You  can  deplore  the 
allurements  of  women  with  green  eyes  and  stony 
hearts,  but  you  degrade  womanhood  while  you  do 
so.  You"  — 

"  Are  you  not  bored  ?  "  whispered  Kindelon,  in 
his  mellow  Irish  brogue  to  Pauline,  as  he  just 
then  stole  to  her  side.  "  If  so,  let  us  walk  away 
together." 

Pauline  slipped  her  hand  into  his  proffered  arm. 
"I  was  not  bored,"  she  said,  as  they  moved  off, 
"but  I  was  just  beginning  to  be.  Are  there 
nothing  but  belligerent  poets  here  to-night?" 


138       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  other  sorts  of  people." 

"  But,  who  are  these  three  wranglers,  Mr.  Tre- 
vor, Mr.  Prawle,  and  Mr.  Corson  ?  " 

Kindelon  laughed.  "  They  are  fanatics,"  he 
said.  "  Each  one  believes  himself  a  Milton  in 
ability." 

"  Are  they  successful  ?  " 

"They  send  poems  (with  stamps  inclosed)  to 
the  magazines,  and  have  them  rejected.  They 
make  believe  to  despise  the  magazines,  but  se- 
cretly they  would  give  worlds  to  see  their  names 
in  print.  Heaven  knows,  the  magazines  print 
rubbish  enough.  But  they  are  sensible  in  reject- 
ing Arthur  Trevor's  poems,  which  are  something 
in  this  style  —  I  quote  from  memory :  — 

"  '  The  hot,  fierce  tiger-lily  madly  yearns 
To  kill  with  passionate  poison  the  wild  moth 
That  reels  in  drunken  ecstasy  above 
Its  gorgeous  bosom.  .  .  . ' 

"  Or  in  rejecting  that  bald-pated  posing  Corson's 
trash,  which  runs  like  this :  — 

"  '  Death  is  far  better  than  the  loathsome  lot 
Of  kissing  lips  that  eoon  must  pale  and  rot, 
Of  clasping  forms  that  soon  must  cease  their  breath 
Within  the  black  embrace  of  haughty  death  ! ' 

"  Or  in  declining  to  publish  Mr.  Leander  Prawle's 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       139 

buncombe,  which  sounds  somewhat  after  this 
fashion : 

"  '  Man  shall  one  clay  develop  to  a  god, 

Though  now  he  walks  unwinged,  unaureoled  .  .  . 
To-day  we  moil  and  mope — to-morrow's  dawn 
Shall  bring  us  pinions  to  outsoar  the  stars.' 

"  That 's  the  sort  of  the  thing  this  brave  trio  does. 
All  poets  are  partially  mad,  of  course.  But  then 
they  are  mad  without  being  poets ;  it 's  this  that 
makes  their  lunacy  so  tiresome." 

"And  are  they  always  quarrelling  when  they 
meet?" 

"  Oh,  they  do  it  for  effect.  They  are  privately 
very  good  friends.  They  are  all  equally  obscure ; 
they  've  no  cause,  yet,  to  hate  one  another.  If 
one  of  them  should  get  a  book  published  before 
either  of  the  other  two,  they  would  probably  both 
abominate  him  in  good  earnest." 

Just  then  a  tall,  sallow  gentleman,  with  small, 
gray  eyes  and  a  nose  like  the  beak  of  a  carnivo- 
rous bird,  laid  his  hand  on  Kindelon's  sleeve. 

"Powers  has  just  asked  me  to  write  the 
Fenimore  Cooper  article  for  his  new  American 
Cyclopaedia,"  declared  this  gentleman,  whose 
name  was  Barrowe,  and  whom  Pauline  had  al- 
ready met. 


140       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  Well,  you  're  precisely  the  man,"  replied  Kin- 
delon.  "  Nobody  can  do  it  better." 

"  Precisely  the  man !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Barrowe. 
"Perhaps  I  would  be  if  I  were  not  so  over- 
whelmed with  other  duties  —  so  unmercifully 
handicapped."  He  turned  to  Pauline.  "  I  am 
devoted  to  literature,  madam,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
I  am  forced  into  commerce  for  the  purpose  of 
keeping  starvation  away  from  my  family  and 
myself.  There  is  the  plain,  unvarnished  truth. 
And  now,  as  it  is,  I  return  home  after  hours  of 
hard,  uncongenial  work,  to  snatch  a  short  inter- 
val between  dinner-time  and  bed-time  for  whatever 
I  can  accomplish  with  my  poor  tired  pen.  My 
case  is  a  peculiar  and  pathetic  one  —  and  this 
Powers  ought  to  understand  it.  But,  no;  he 
comes  to  me  in  the  coolest  manner,  and  makes  my 
doing  that  article  for  him  a  question  of  actual 
good-nature  and  friendly  support.  So,  of  course, 
I  consent.  But  it  shows  a  great  want  of  delicacy 
in  Powers.  He  knows  well  enough  that  I  am 
obliged  to  neglect  many  social  duties  —  that  I 
should  not  even  be  here  at  this  moment  —  that 
besides  my  daily  business  I  am  besieged  with 
countless  applications  from  literary  people  for  all 
sorts  of  favors.  Why,  this  very  week,  I  have 
received  no  less  than  fourteen  requests  for  ray 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       141 

autograph.  How  are  my  wife  and  little  ones  to 
live  if  I  am  perpetually  to  oblige  inconsiderate 
and  thoughtless  friends  ?  " 

"  Your  complaints  would  indicate,"  said  Kin  de- 
Ion,  rather  dryly,  "that  Powers  has  not  offered 
you  the  requisite  cheque  for  proposed  services." 

Mr.  Ban-owe  gave  an  irritated  groan.  "  Kin- 
delon  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you  know  you  can  be 
a  very  rude  man  when  you  want  ?  " 

"  You  've  told  me  that  several  times  before, 
Barrowe,"  said  Kindelon,  quite  jovially,  moving 
on  with  Pauline. 

He  did  this  briskly  enough  to  prevent  the  in- 
dignant Mr.  Barrowe  from  making  any  further 
reply. 

"  I  'in  afraid  you  '11  have  trouble  with  that 
man,"  he  said  to  Pauline,  presently,  "if  you  ad- 
mit him  into  your  salon" 

"  I  have  read  some  of  his  essays,"  she  answered. 
"They  are  published  abroad,  you  know.  I 
thought  them  very  clever." 

"So  they  are  —  amazingly.  But  Barrowe  him- 
self is  a  sort  of  monomaniac.  He  believes  that 
he  is  the  most  maltreated  of  authors.  He  is  for- 
ever boring  his  friends  with  these  egotistic  lamen- 
tations. Now,  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  he 
has  more  to  solidly  congratulate  himself  upon 


142       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

than  almost  any  author  whom  I  know.  He  was 
sensible  enough,  years  ago,  to  embark  in  com- 
mercial affairs.  I  forget  just  what  he  does ;  I 
think  he  is  a  wholesale  druggist,  or  grocer.  He 
writes  brilliantly  and  with  extraordinary  speed. 
His  neglect  of  social  duties,  as  he  calls  them,  is 
the  purest  nonsense.  He  goes  wherever  he  is 
asked,  and  finds  plenty  of  time  for  work  besides. 
This  request  from  Powers  secretly  pleases  him. 
The  new  Cyclopaedia  is  going  to  be  a  splendid 
series  of  volumes.  But  Barrowe  must  have  his 
little  elegiac  moan  over  his  blighted  life." 

"  And  the  applications  from  fellow-authors  ?  " 
asked  Pauline.  "  The  requests  for  autographs  ?  " 

"Pshaw!  those  are  a  figment  of  his  fancy,  I 
suspect.  He  imagines  that  he  is  of  vast  impor- 
tance in  the  literary  world.  His  sensitiveness  is 
something  ridiculous.  He 's  a  far  worse  monolo- 
guist  than  I  am,  which  is  surely  saying  a  great 
deal ;  but  if  you  answer  him  he  considers  it  an 
interruption,  and  if  you  disagree  with  him  he 
ranks  it  as  impertinence.  I  think  he  rather  likes 
me  because  I  persistently,  fearlessly,  and  relent- 
lessly do  both.  But  with  all  his  faults,  Barrowe 
has  a  large,  warm  heart.  Still,  it 's  astonishing 
how  a  fine  and  true  character  can  often  enshroud 
itself  with  repellent  mannerisms,  just  as  a  firm 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       143 

breadth  of  sea-rock  will  become  overcrusted 
with  brittle  barnacles.  .  .  .  Ah,  Whitcomb,  good 
evening." 

A  corpulent  man,  with  silver-gray  hair  and  a 
somewhat  pensive  expression,  was  the  recipient  of 
Kindelon's  last  cordial  sentence  of  salutation. 
After  he  had  made  the  needful  introduction,  Kin- 
delon  said,  addressing  Pauline  while  he  regarded 
Mr.  Whitcomb,  — 

"  This  is  the  author  of  no  less  than  five  stan- 
dard histories." 

"  Kindelon  is  very  good  to  call  them  standard, 
Mrs.  Varick,"  said  Mr.  Whitcomb,  in  a  voice  quite 
as  pensive  as  his  face.  "  I  wish  that  a  few  thou- 
sands more  would  only  share  his  opinion." 

"  Oh,  but  they  are  gradually  getting  to  do  it, 
my  dear  Whitcomb  !  "  declared  Kindelon.  "  Don't 
make  any  mistake  on  that  point.  A  few  days  ago 
I  chanced  to  meet  your  publisher,  Sours.  Now, 
an  author  must  stand  pretty  sure  of  success  when 
his  publisher  pays  him  a  round  compliment." 

"  What  did  Sours  say  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Whitcomb, 
with  an  almost  boyish  eagerness. 

"  He  said,"  exclaimed  Kindelon,  "  that  Whit- 
comb was  our  coming  American  historian. 
There,  my  dear  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Mr.  Whitcomb  sadly  shook  his  silver-gray  head. 


144       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"I've  been  coming,"  he  murmured,  "ever  since  I 
was  twenty-eight,  and  I  shall  be  fifty-seven  next 
May.  I  can't  say  that  I  think  Sours's  compliment 
meant  much.  It 's  got  to  be  a  sort  of  set  phrase 
about  me,  that  I  'm  coming.  It  never  occurs  to 
anybody  to  say  that  I  've  come,  and  I  suppose  it 
will  not  if  I  live  to  bs  eighty  and  totter  round 
with  white  hair.  No,  I  shall  always  be  coming, 
coming.  ..." 

As  the  gentleman  repeated  this  final  word  he 
smiled  with  a  kind  of  weary  amiability,  still 
shaking  his  gray  head;  and  a  moment  later  he 
had  passed  from  sight. 

"Mrs.  Varick,"  now.  said  a  cold,  rasping  voice 
to  Pauline,  "  have  you  managed  to  enjoy  yourself, 
thus  far?  If  you  recollect,  we  were  introduced  a 
little  while  ago  .  .  .  Miss  Cragge,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,  Miss  Cragge,"  said  Pau- 
line. "And  I  find  it  very  pleasant  here,  I  assure 

you." 

Miss  Cragge  had  given  Kiudelon  a  short  nod, 
which  he  returned  somewhat  faintly.  She  was  a 
lady  of  masculine  height,  with  a  square-jawed 
face,  a  rather  mottled  complexion,  and  a  pair  of 
slaty-blue  eyes  that  looked  at  you  very  directly 
indeed  from  beneath  a  broad,  flat  forehead.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  habit  of  some  shabby  gray  stuff, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       145 

and  wore  at  her  throat  a  large  antique  cameo  pin, 
which  might  have  been  unearthed  from  an  ances- 
tral chest  near  the  lavendered  laces  and  faded 
love-letters  of  a  long-dead  grandmother.  She  was 
by  no  means  an  agreeable-looking  lady ;  she  was 
so  ungentle  in  her  quick,  snapping  speech  and  so 
unfeminine  in  her  gaunt,  bony,  and  almost  tower- 
ing figure,  that  she  promptly  impressed  you  with 
an  idea  of  Nature  having  maliciously  blended  the 
harsher  traits  of  both  sexes  in  one  austere  per- 
sonality, and  at  the  same  time  leaving  the  result 
sarcastically  feminine.  She  seldom  addressed  you 
without  appearing  to  be  bent  on  something  which 
she  thought  you  might  have  to  tell  her,  or  which 
she  would  like  you  very  much  to  reveal.  Her 
affirmations  often  had  the  sound  of  interroga- 
tories. She  had  none  of  the  tact,  the  grace,  the 
finesse  of  the  ordinary  "interviewer;"  she  went 
to  her  task  rough-handed  and  undcxterous. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  she  at  once  said  to  Pau- 
line. "  I  know  you'  ve  moved  a  good  deal  in 
fashionable  society,  and  I  should  be  gratified  to 
learn  how  this  change  affects  you." 

"  Quite  refreshingly,"  returned  Pauline. 

"You  don't  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water,  then?" 
said  Miss  Cragge,  with  a  sombre  little  laugh.  "  Or 
like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret  ?  .  .  .  I  saw  you  at 


146       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

the  opera  the  other  evening.  You  were  with  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie  and  her  daughter ;  I  was  down 
stairs  in  the  orchestra.  I  go  a  good  deal  to  places 
of  amusement  —  in  a  professional  way,  you  know; 
I  'm  a  dead-head,  as  the  managers  call  it  —  I  help 
to  paper  the  house." 

"  You  are  rather  too  idiomatic,  I  fear,"  now  said 
Kindelon,  with  a  chilly  ring  in  his  tones,  "for 
Mrs.  Varick  to  understand  you." 

"Idiomatic  is  very  good  —  excellent,  in  fact," 
replied  Miss  Cragge,  with  a  pleasantry  that  barely 
missed  being  morose.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  that 
I  am  slangy.  You  're  always  trying  to  snub  me, 
Kindelon,  but  I  don't  mind  you.  You  can't  snub 
me  —  nobody  can.  I  'm  too  thick-skinned."  Here 
the  strangely  self-poised  lady  laughed  again,  if  the 
grim  little  sound  that  left  her  mirthless  lips  could 
really  be  called  a  laugh.  "I  know  the  Pough- 
keepsies  by  sight,"  she  continued,  re-addressing 
Pauline,  "  because  it 's  my  business  as  a  newspaper 
correspondent  to  get  all  the  fashionable  items  that 
I  can  collect,  and  whenever  I  'm  at  any  public 
place  of  amusement  where  there's  a  chance  of 
meeting  those  upper-ten  people,  I  always  keep  my 
eyes  and  ears  open  as  wide  as  possible.  I  'm  cor- 
respondent for  eight  weekly  papers  outside  of 
New  York,  besides  doing  work  for  two  of  the  city 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       147 

dailies.  I  never  saw  anything  like  the  craze  for 
society  gossip  nowadays.  One  good  story  from 
high  life,  with  a  moderate  spice  of  scandal  in  it,  will 
pay  me  six  times  as  well  as  anything  else.  They 
say  I'm  always  hunting  about  for  material,  and 
no  wonder  that  I  am.  The  thing  is  bread  and 
butter  to  me  —  and  not  much  butter,  either.  You 
see,  the  rich  classes  here  are  getting  to  represent 
so  large  a  body;  so  many  people  are  trying  to 
push  themselves  into  society.  And  when  they 
can't  elbow  their  way  into  the  swell  balls  and 
parties,  why,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  read  about 
who  were  there,  and  what  they  had  on,  and  who 
led  the  German,  and  what  they  ate  and  drank, 
and  how  the  house  was  decorated.  It  seemed  a 
queer  enough  business  for  me,  at  first ;  I  started 
with  grand  ideas,  but  I  've  had  to  come  down  a 
good  many  pegs ;  I  've  had  to  pull  in  my  horns. 
And  now  I  don't  mind  it  a  bit ;  I  suppose  Kin  de- 
Ion  would  say  that  I  enjoyed  it  ...  eh,  Kindelon  ? 
Why,  Mrs.  Varick,  I  used  to  write  book-reviews 
for  the  New  York  '  Daily  Criterion,'  and  my  pay 
kept  growing  less  and  less.  One  day  I  wrote  a 
very  careful  review  of  a  book  that  I  admired 
greatly  —  it  was  George  Eliot's  '  Middlemarch,' 
in.  fact.  The  editor-in-chief  sent  for  me.  He 
named  the  article,  and  then  said,  'I  hear  that  you 


148       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

wrote  it.  It 's  a  very  fine  piece  of  work.'  4  Thank 
you,  sir,'  I  replied,  with  a  tingle  of  gratification. 
'Yes,  a  very  fine  piece  of  work,  indeed,'  continued 
the  editor ;  '  I  read  it  with  much  pleasure.  But 
don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  again,  Miss  Craggc  — • 
we  've  no  use  for  it  on  the  '  Criterion.'  After  that 
I  became  less  ambitious  and  more  mercenary. 
There 's  no  use  pounding  against  stone  walls. 
The  reading  public  will  have  what  it  wants,  and 
if  I  don't  give  it  to  them,  somebody  else  will  be 
only  too  glad  to  take  my  place.  .  .  .  By  the  way, 
Mrs.  Varick,  do  you  think  that  Miss  Poughkeepsie 
is  going  to  marry  that  Scotch  earl  —  Lord  Glen- 
artney  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell  you,  really,"  said  Pauline.  She 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  dislike  Miss  Cragge 
very  much  indeed.  At  the  same  time  she  felt  a 
certain  pity  for  her. 

Kindelon  began  to  press  quietly  forward,  and 
Pauline,  who  still  had  his  arm,  by  no  means 
resisted  this  measure. 

"I've  been  very  candid,"  called  Miss  Cragge, 
while  the  two  were  slipping  away  from  her.  She 
spoke  with  even  more  than  her  usual  blunt,  curt 
manner.  "It  was  because  I  knew  Kindelon 
would  be  apt  to  say  hard  things  of  me,  and  I 
wanted  to  spike  a  few  of  his  guns.  But  I  hope 
I  have  n't  shocked  you,  Mrs.  Varick." 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW.       149 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Pauline,  as  blandly  as  her 
feelings  would  permit.  .  .  . 

"You  were  a  good  deal  disgusted,  no  doubt," 
said  Kindelon,  when  they  were  beyond  Miss 
Oagge's  hearing. 

"  She  is  n't  the  most  charming  person  I  have 
ever  met,"  replied  Pauline.  "  I  will  grant  you 
that." 

"How  amiably  you  denounce  her!  But  I 
forget,"  he  added.  "Such  a  little  time  ago  you 
were  prepared  to  be  exhilarated  and  .  .  .  what 
was  the  other  word?  .  .  to  fraternize  with  most 
of  the  company  here."  . 

She  chose  not  to  heed  the  last  stroke  of  light 
irony. 

"  Are  you  and  Miss  Cragge  enemies  ? "  she 
asked. 

"Well,  I  abominate  her,  and  she  knows  it.  I 
rarely  abominate  anybody,  and  I  think  she  knows 
that  also.  To  my  mind  she  is  a  conscienceless, 
hybrid  creature.  She  is  a  result  of  a  terrible 
modern  license — the  license  of  the  Press.  There  is 
a  frank  confession,  for  a  newspaper  man  like  my- 
self. But,  between  ourselves,  I  don't  know  where 
modern  journalism,  in  some  of  its  ferocious  phases, 
is  going  to  stop,  unless  it  stops  at  a  legislative 
veto.  Miss  Cragge  would  sacrifice  her  best  friend 


150       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

(if  she  had  any  friends — which  she  hasn't)  to 
the  requirements  of  what  she  calls  'an  item.' 
She  thinks  no  more  of  assailing  a  reputation,  in 
her  quest  for  so-termed  '  material,'  than  a  rat 
would  think  of  carrying  off  a  lump  of  cheese. 
She  knows  very  well  that  I  will  never  forgive 
her  for  having  printed  a  lot  of  libellous  folly 
about  a  certain  friend  of  mine.  He  had  written 
a  rather  harmless  and  weak  novel  of  New  York 
society,  New  York  manners.  Miss  Cragge  had 
some  old  grudge  against  him ;  I  think  it  was  on 
account  of  an  adverse  criticism  which  she  believed 
him  to  have  written  regarding  some  dreary,  ama- 
teurish poems  for  whose  author  she  had  conceived 
a  liking.  This  was  quite  enough  for  Miss  Cragge. 
She  fdled  a  column  of  the  Rochester  "  Rocket,"  or 
the  Topeka  "  Trumpet,"  or  some  such  sheet,  with 
irate  fictions  about  poor  Charley  Erskine.  He  had 
no  redress,  poor  fellow  ;  she  declared  that  he  had 
slandered  a  pure,  high-minded  lady  in  society  here 
by  caricaturing  her  in  his  novel.  She  parodied 
some  of  poor  Charley's  rather  fragile  verses ;  she 
accused  him  of  habitually  talking  fatuous  stuff  at 
a  certain  Bohemian  sort  of  beer-garden  which  he 
had  visited  scarcely  five  times  within  that  same 
year.  Oh,  well,  the  whole  thing  was  so  atrocious 
that  I  offered  my  friend  the  New  York  "Asteroid" 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       151 

in  which  to  hurl  back  any  epistolary  thunder- 
bolt he  should  care  to  manufacture.  But  Charley 
would  n't ;  he  might  have  written  a  bad  novel  and 
worse  poems,  but  he  had  sense  enough  to  know  that 
his  best  scorn  lay  in  severe  silence.  Still,  apart 
from  all  this,  I  have  excellent  reasons  for  shunning 
Miss  Cragge,  and  I  have  told  you  some  of  them. 
She  is  the  most  aggravated  form  of  the  American 
newspaper  correspondent,  prowling  about  and 
seeking  whom  she  may  devour.  I  consider  her 
a  dangerous  person,  and  I  advise  you  not  to 
allow  her  within  your  salon" 

"  Oh,  I  shan't,"  quickly  answered  Pauline. 
"  You  need  not  have  counselled  me  on  that  point. 
It  was  quite  unnecessary.  I  intend  to  pick  and 
choose."  She  gave  a  long,  worried  sigh,  now, 
which  Kindelon  just  heard  above  the  conversa- 
tional hum  surrounding  them.  "  I  am  afraid  it  all 
comes  to  picking  and  choosing,  everywhere,"  she 
went  on.  "Aunt  Cynthia  Poughkeepsie  is  per- 
petually doing  it  in  her  world,  and  I  begin  to 
think  that  there  is  none  other  where  it  must  not 
be  done." 

Kindelon  leaned  his  handsome  crisp-curled  head 
nearer  to  her  own ;  he  fixed  his  light-blue  eyes,  in 
which  lay  so  warm  and  liquid  a  sparkle,  intently 
upon  the  lifted  gaze  of  Pauline. 


152        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said.  "  You  will  learn 
that,  among  other  lessons,  before  you  are  much 
older.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  not  picking  and 
choosing.  Whatever  the  grade  of  life,  it  is  always 
done  by  those  who  have  any  sort  of  social  impulse. 
I  believe  it  is  done  in  Eighth  Avenue  and  Avenue 
A,  when  they  give  parties  in  little  rooms  of  tene- 
ment houses  and  hire  a  fiddler  to  speed  the  dance. 
There  is  always  some  Michael  or  Fritz  who  has 
been  ostracized.  The  O'Haras  and  the  Schneiders 
follow  the  universal  law.  Wherever  three  are 
gathered  together,  the  third  is  pretty  sure  to  be  of 
questionable  welcome.  This  is  n't  an  ideal  planet, 
my  dear  lady,  and  '  liberty  '  and  '  fraternity '  are 
good  enough  watchwords,  but  'equality'  never 
yet  was  one; — if  I  didn't  remember  my  Buckle, 
my  Spencer,  my  Huxley,  and  my  dear  old  Whig 
Macaulay,  I  should  add  that  it  never  would  be 
one." 

Just  at  this  point  Kindelon  and  Pauline  found 
themselves  face  to  face  with  two  gentlemen  who 
were  both  in  a  seemingly  excited  frame  of  mind. 
Pauline  remembered  that  they  had  both  been  pre- 
sented to  her  riot  long  ago.  She  recollected  their 
names,  too ;  her  memory  had  been  nerved  to  meet 
all  retentive  exigencies.  The  large,  florid  man, 
with  the  bush  of  sorrel  beard,  was  Mr.  Bedlowe, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       153 

and  the  smaller,  smooth-shaven  man,  with  the  con- 
sumptive stoop  and  the  professorial  blue  spectacles, 
was  Mr.  Howe. 

Mr.  Howe  and  Mr.  Bedlowe  were  two  novelists 
of  very  opposite  repute.  Kindelon  had  already 
caught  a  few  words  from  the  latter,  querulously 
spoken. 

"Ah,  so  you  think  modern  novel-writing  a  sham, 
my  dear  Howe  ? "  he  said,  pausing  with  his  com- 
panion, while  either  gentleman  bowed  recognition 
to  Pauline.  "  Is  n't  that  rank  heresy  from  the 
author  of  a  book  that  has  just  been  storming  the 
town  ?  " 

"My  book  didn't  storm  the  town,  Kindelon," 
retorted  Mr.  Howe,  lifting  a  hand  of  scholarly 
slimness  and  pallor  toward  his  opaque  goggles. 
"  I  wish  it  had,"  he  proceeded,  somewhat  wearily. 
"  No ;  Bedlowe  and  I  were  having  one  of  our  old 
quarrels.  I  say  that  we  novelists  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  tongue  are  altogether  too  limited.  That 
is  what  I  mean  by  declaring  that  modern  novel- 
writing  is  a  sham." 

"  He  means  a  great  deal  more,  I  'm  sorry  to 
say,"  here  cried  Mr.  Bedlowe,  who  had  a  habit  of 
grasping  his  sorrel  beard  in  one  hand  and  thrust- 
ing its  end  toward  his  hirsute  lips  as  though  they 
were  about  to  be  allured  by  some  edible  mouthful. 


154       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  He  means,  Kindelon,  that  because  we  have  n't 
the  shocking  immoral  latitude  of  the  French  race, 
we  can't  properly  express  ourselves  in  fiction. 
And  he  goes  still  further  —  Howe  is  always  going 
still  further  every  fresh  time  that  I  meet  him.  He 
says  that  if  the  modern  novelist  dared  to  express 
himself  on  religious  subjects,  he  would  be  an 
agnostic." 

"  Precisely ! "  cried  Mr.  Howe,  with  the  pale 
hand  wavering  downward  from  the  eerie  glasses. 
"  But  he  does  n't  dare  !  If  he  did,  his  publisher 
would  n't  publish  him  !  " 

"  My  publisher  publishes  me ! "  frowned  Mr. 
Bedlowe. 

"  Oh,  you  're  a  pietist,"  was  the  excited  answer. 
"At  least,  you  go  in  for  that  when  you  write  your 
novels.  It  pays,  and  you.  do  it.  I  don't  say  that 
you  do  it  because  it  pays,  but "... 

"  You  infer  it,"  grumbled  Mr.  Bedlowe,  "  and 
that 's  almost  the  same  as  saying  it."  He  visibly 
bristled  here.  "  I  've  got  a  wholesome  faith,"  he 
proceeded,  with  hostility.  "  That 's  why  I  wrote 
'The  Christian  Knight  in  Armor'  and  'The 
Doubtful  Soul  Satisfied.'  Each  of  them  sold 
seventy  thousand  copies  apiece.  There  's  a  proof 
that  the  public  wanted  them  —  that  they  filled  a 
need." 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       155 

"So  does  the  'Weekly  Wake-Me-Up,'"  said 
Mr.  Howe,  with  mild  disdain.  "  My  dear  Bed- 
lowe,  you  have  two  qualities  as  a  modern  novel- 
writer  which  are  simply  atrocious  —  I  mean,  plot 
and  piety.  The  natural  result  of  these  is  popu- 
larity. But  your  popularity  means  nothing.  You 
utterly  neglect  analysis" — 

"I  despise  analysis  !  " 

"  You  entirely  ignore  style  " — 

"  I  express  my  thoughts  without  affectation." 

"Your  characters  are  wholly  devoid  of  sub- 
tlety "— 

"  I  abhor  subtlety !  " 

"  You  preach  sermons  " — 

"  Which  thousands  listen  to  I  " 

"  You  fail  completely  to  represent  your  time  " — 

"My  readers,  who  represent  my  time,  don't 
agree  with  you." 

"  You  end  your  books  with  marriages  and 
christenings  in  the  most  absurdly  old-fashioned 
way  "— 

"  I  end  a  story  as  every  story  should  end.  Sen- 
sible people  have  a  sensible  curiosity  to  know  what 
becomes  of  hero  and  heroine." 

"Curiosity  is  the  vice  of  the  vulgar  novel- 
reader.  Psychological  interest  is  the  one  sole  in- 
terest that  should  concern  the  more  cultured  mind. 


156       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

And  though  you  may  sell  your  seventy  thousand 
copies,  I  beg  to  assure  you  that "... 

"Had  we  not  heard  quite  enough  of  that  hot 
squabble  ?  "  said  Kindelon  to  Pauline,  after  he  had 
pressed  with  her  into  other  conversational  regions, 
beyond  the  assault  and  defence  of  these  two  inimi- 
cal novelists. 

"  I  rather  enjoyed  it,"  said  Pauline. 

"  They  would  have  presently  dragged  us  into 
their  argument,"  returned  Kindelon.  "  It  was  just 
as  well  that  we  retired  without  committing  our- 
selves by  an  opinion.  I  should  have  sided  with 
Howe,  though  I  think  him  an  extremist." 

"  I  know  some  of  Mr.  Bedlowe's  novels,"  said 
Pauline.  "  They  are  very  popular  in  England.  I 
thought  them  simply  dire." 

"And  Howe  is  a  real  artist.  He  has  a  sort  of 
cult  here,  though  not  a  large  one.  What  he  says 
is  true  enough,  in  the  main.  The  modern  novelist 
dares  not  express  his  religious  views,  unless  they 
be  of  the  most  conventional  and  tame  sort.  And 
how  few  fine  minds  are  there  to-day  which  are  not 
rationalistic,  unorthodox  ?  A  man  like  Bedlowe 
coins  money  from  his  milk-and-water  platitudes, 
while  Howe  must  content  himself  with  the  recog- 
nition of  a  small  though  devout  circle  .  .  .  Did 
you  meet  the  great  American  dramatist,  by  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       157 

way  ?  I  mean  Mr.  Osgood  Paiseley.  He  is  stand- 
ing over  yonder  near  the  mantel  .  .  .  that  slender 
little  man  with  the  abnormally  massive  head." 

"  Yes,  I  met  him,"  returned  Pauline.  "  He  is 
coming  this  way." 

"  Have  you  any  new  dramatic  work  in  prepara- 
tion, Paiseley?"  asked  Kiiidelon,  as  the  gentleman 
who  had  just  been  mentioned  now  drew  near  him- 
self and  Pauline. 

"Yes,"  was  Mr.  Paiseley's  reply.  He  spoke 
with  a  nasal  tone  and  without  much  grammatical 
punctilio.  "I've  got  a  piece  on  hand  that  I'm 
doing  for  Mattie  Molloy.  Do  you  know  her  at 
all?  She  does  the  song-and-dance  business  with 
comedy  variations.  I  think  the  piece  '11  be  a  go ; 
it  '11  just  suit  her,  I  guess." 

"  Your  last  melodrama,  '  The  Brand  of  Cain,' 
was  very  successful,  was  it  not  ?  "  pursued  Kinde- 
lon. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Paiseley,  as  he  threw  back  an 
errant  lock  or  two  from  his  great  width  of  swollen- 
looking  forehead,  "I'm  afraid  it  isn't  going  to 
catch  on  so  very  well,  after  all.  The  piece  is  all 
right,  but  the  company  can't  play  it.  Cooke  guys 
his  part  because  he  don't  like  it,  and  does  n't  get  a 
hand  on  some  of  the  strongest  lines  that  have  been 
put  into  any  actor's  mouth  for  the  past  twenty 


158       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

years  —  fact !  as  sure  as  you  're  born  !  Moore 
makes  up  horribly,  and  Kitty  Vane  is  so  over- 
weighted that  Miss  Cowes,  in  a  straight  little 
part  of  only  a  few  lengths,  gets  away  with  her  for 
two  scenes  ;  and  Sanders  is  awfully  preachy.  If 
T  could  have  had  my  own  say  about  casting  the 
piece,  we'd  have  turned  away  money  for  six 
weeks  and  made  it  a  sure  thing  for  the  road.  I 
mean  for  the  big  towns,  not  the  one-night  places ; 
it's  got  too  many  utility-people  to  make  it  pay 
there.  But  I  shan't  offer  anything  more  to  the 
stock-theatres ;  after  this,  I  'm  going  to  fit  stars." 

Pauline  turned  a  covertly  puzzled  look  upon  her 
companion.  She  seemed  to  be  hearing  a  new  lan- 
guage. And  yet,  although  the  words  were  all 
familiar  enough,  their  collocation  mystified  her. 

"  You  think  there  is  more  profit,  then,  in  fitting 
stars,"  said  Kindelon,  "  if  there  is  less  fame  ?  " 

Mr.  Paiseley  laughed,  with  not  a  little  bitter- 
ness. "  Oh,  fame,"  he  said,  "  is  the  infirmity  of 
the  young  American  dramatist.  I  've  outgrown 
it.  I  used  to  have  it.  But  what's  the  use  of 
fighting  against  France  and  England  in  the  stock- 
theatres?  Give  me  a  fair  show  there,  and  I  can 
draw  bigger  money  than  Dennery  or  Sardou  — 
don't  you  make  any  mistake !  But  those  foreign 
fellows  are  always  crowding  us  natives  out  of  New 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       159 

York.  The  managers  hem  and  smirk  over  our 
pieces,  aiid  say  they  're  good  enough,  but  they  've 
got  something  that's  running  well  at  the  Porte 
Sang  Martang  or  the  Odeun  in  Paris.  The  best 
we  can  do  is  to  have  our  plays  done  by  a  scratch 
company  at  some  second-rate  house,  or,  if  it's  a 
first-class  house,  they  give  us  bad  time.  No,  I 
fit  travelling  stars  at  so  much  cash  down,  and  so 
much  royalty  afterward  —  that  is,  when  I  can't  get 
a  percentage  on  the  gross.  I  don't  work  any  more 
for  fame ;  I  want  my  dinner."  .  .  . 

"  Your  friend  takes  a  rather  commercial  view  of 
the  American  stage,"  said  Pauline  to  Kindelon, 
after  they  had  again  moved  onward. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  is  almost  the  only 
view  taken  by  any  of  our  dramatists.  Paiseley 
is  thoroughly  representative  of  his  class.  They 
would  all  like  to  write  a  fine  play,  but  they  nearly 
all  make  the  getting  of  money  their  primary  ob- 
ject. Now,  I  do  not  believe  that  the  lust  of  gain 
has  ever  been  a  foremost  incentive  in  the  produc- 
tion of  any  great  mental  achievement.  Our  novels 
and  poems  are  to-day  better  than  our  plays,  I 
think,  because  they  are  written  with  a  more  artis- 
tic and  a  less  monetary  stimulus.  The  rewards  of 
the  successful  playwright  may  mean  a  fortune  to 
him;  he  always  remembers  that  when  he  begins, 


100       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

and  he  usually  begins  for  the  reason  that  he  does 
remember  it."  .  .  . 

Pauline  had  glimpses  of  not  a  few  more  indi- 
vidualities, that  evening,  before  she  at  length  took 
her  leave. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  enjoyed  it  ?  "  asked  Kin- 
delon,  as  they  were  being  driven  home  together. 

"  I  have  not  entirely  enjoyed  it,"  was  the  slow 
answer. 

"  You  have  been  disappointed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  your  purpose. of  the  salon  still  remains 
good?"  * 

"Indeed  it  does!"  she  exclaimed  with  eager- 
ness. "  I  shall  begin  my  work  —  I  shall  issue  my 
invitations  in  a  few  days.  Mrs.  Dares  will  no 
doubt  supply  me  with  a  full  list  of  names  and 
addresses." 

"  And  you  will  invite  everybody  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  no  means.     I  shall  pick  and  choose." 

"Beware  of  calamity!"  said  Kindelon.  And 
his  voice  was  so  odd  a  blending  of  the  jocose  and 
serious  that  she  could  ill  guess  whether  he  were  in 
earnest  or  not. 


VIII. 

TDAULINE  no^  began  in'  excellent  earnest  the 
preparations  for  embarking  upon  her  some- 
what quaint  enterprise.  During  the  next  three 
or  four  days  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  Kindelon. 
They  visited  together  the  little  editorial  sanctum 
in  Spruce  Street,  where  Mrs.  Dares  sat  dictating 
some  of  her  inexhaustible  "  copy  "  to  a  pale  and 
rather  jaded-looking  female  amanuensis.  The 
lady  received  her  visitors  with  a  most  courteous 
hospitality.  Pauline  had  a  sense  of  shocking  idle- 
ness as  she  looked  at  the  great  cumbrous  writing- 
desk  covered  with  ink-stains,  files  or  clippings  of 
newspapers,  and  long  ribbon-like  rolls  of  "proof." 
Her  own  fine  garments  seemed  to  crackle  ostenta- 
tiously beside  the  noiseless  folds  of  Mrs.  Dares's 
work-day  cashmere. 

"We  shall  not  take  up  much  of  your  valuable 
time,"  she  said  to  the  large-eyed,  serious  little 
lady.  "  We  have  called  principally  to  ask  a  favor 
of  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  a  pre- 
sumptuous request." 

"I  hope  it  is  presumptuous,"  said  Mrs.  Dares, 

161 


1G2       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  for  that,  provided  I  can  grant  it  at  all,  will  make 
it  so  much  pleasanter  to  grant." 

"You  may  be  sure,"  cried  Kindelon  gayly  to 
Pauline,  "that  you  have  made  a  complete  con- 
quest of  Mrs.  Dares.  She  is  usually  quite  miserly 
with  her  compliments.  She  puts  me  on  the 
wretched  allowance  of  one  a  year." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  deserve  a  more  liberal  in- 
come," said  Pauline.  Then  she  re-addressed  Mrs. 
Dares.  "  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  proceeded,  with 
a  shy  kind  of  venture  in  her  tone,  "if  you  will 
kindly  loan  me  your  visiting-book  for  a  little 
while." 

"  My  visiting-book  ? "  murmured  Mrs.  Dares. 
Then  she  slowly  shook  her  head,  while  the  pale 
girl  at  the  desk  knitted  her  brows  perplexedly,  as 
though  she  had  encountered  some  tantalizing  for- 
eign word.  "  I  would  gladly  lend  it  if  I  had  one," 
Mrs.  Dares  went  on;  "but  I  possess  no  such  ar- 
ticle." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  exclaimed  Pauline,  with  an 
involuntary  surprise  that  instantly  afterward  she 
regretted  as  uncivil.  "  You  have  none  ! " 

But  Mrs.  Dares  did  not  seem  to  detect  the  least 
incivility  in  Pauline's  amazement. 

"  No,  my  dear  Mrs.  Varick,  I  have  no  need  of  a 
visiting-book,  for  I  have  no  time  to  visit." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       163 

"  But  you  surely  have  some  sort  of  list,  have  you 
not?"  now  inquired  Kindelon. 

Mrs.  Dares  lightly  touched  her  forehead.  "  Only 
here  in  my  memory,"  she  said,  "and  that  is  deci- 
dedly an  imperfect  list.  My  guests  understand 
that  to  be  invited  to  one  of  my  evenings  is  to  be 
invited  to  all.  I  suppose  that  in  the  fashionable 
world,"  she  proceeded,  fixing  her  great  dark  eyes 
on  Pauline,  "it  is  wholly  different.  There,  mat- 
ters of  this  sort  are  managed  with  much  ceremony, 
no  doubt." 

"With  much  trivial  ceremony,"  said  Pauline. 
"A  little  scrap  of  pasteboard  there  represents  an 
individuality  —  and  in  just  as  efficient  manner  as 
if  it  were  truly  the  person  represented.  To  be  in 
society,  as  it  is  called,  is  to  receive  a  perpetual 
shower  of  cards.  I  strongly  doubt  if  many  peo- 
ple ever  care  to  meet  in  a  truly  social  way  those 
whose  company  they  pretend  to  solicit.  There  are 
few  more  perfect  mockeries  in  that  most  false  and 
mocking  life,  than  the  ordinary  visit  of  etiquette." 
Pauline  here  gave  a  little  meaning  smile  as  she 
briefly  paused.  "But  I  suppose  you  will  under- 
stand, Mrs.  Dares,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  regret 
your  having  no  regular  list.  I  wanted  to  borrow 
it  —  and  with  what  purpose  I  am  sure  you  can 
readily  imagine." 


164       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "My  daughter  Cora 
shall  prepare  you  one,  however.  She  has  an  ad- 
mirable memory.  If  she  fails  in  the  matter  of 
addresses,  there  is  the  directory  as  a  help,  you 
know.  And  so  your  idea  about  the  salon  is  un- 
changed?" 

"  It  is  unalterable,"  said  Pauline,  with  a  laugh. 
"  But  I  hate  so  to  trouble  your  daughter." 

"  She  will  not  think  it  any  trouble,"  said  Kinde- 
lon  quickly. 

Pauline  looked  at  him  with  a  slight  elevation  of 
the  brows.  "You  speak  confidently  for  Miss 
Cora,"  she  said. 

Kindelon  lifted  one  hand,  and  waved  it  a  trifle 
embarrassedly.  "  Oh,  I  have  always  found  her  so 
accommodating,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  Cora  is  always  glad  to  please  those  whom 
she  likes,"  said  Mrs.  Dares.  .  .  . 

A  little  later  Pauline  and  Kindelon  took  leave 
of  their  hostess.  They  had  been  driven  to  Spruce 
Street  in  the  carriage  of  the  former,  and  as  they 
quitted  the  huge  building  in  which  Mrs.  Dares's 
tiny  sanctum  was  situated,  Kindelon  said  to  his 
companion  :  "  You  shall  return  home  at  once  ?  " 

Pauline  gave  a  careless  laugh.  She  looked 
about  her  at  all  the  commercial  hurry  and  bustle 
of  the  placarded,  vehicle-thronged  street.  "  I  have 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       1C5 

nowhere  else  to  go  just  at  present,"  she  said. 
"  Not  that  I  should  not  like  to  stay  down  town,  as 
you  call  it,  a  little  longer.  The  noise  and  activity 
please  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  by  the  way,"  she  added,  "  did 
you  not  say  that  you  must  repair  to  your 
office?" 

"  The  '  Asteroid '  imperatively  claims  me,"  said 
Kindelon,  taking  out  his  watch.  "  Only  twelve 
o'clock,"  he  proceeded;  "I  thought  it  later. 
Well,  I  have  at  least  an  hour  at  your  service 
still.  Have  you  any  commands?" 

"Where  on  earth  could  we  pass  your  hour  of 
leisure  ?  "  said  Pauline.  "  It  would  probably  not 
be  proper  if  I  accompanied  you  into  the  office  of 
the  'Asteroid.'" 

"It  would  be  sadly  dull." 

"  Then  I  will  drive  up  town  after  I  have  left  you 
there." 

"  Why  not  remain  down  town,  since  the  change 
pleases  you  ?  " 

"Driving  aimlessly  about  for  a  whole  hour?" 

"By  no  means.  I  have  an  idea  of  what  we 
might  do.  I  think  you  might  not  find  the  idea  at 
all  disagreeable.  If  you  will  permit,  I  will  give 
your  footman  an  order,  and  plan  for  you  a  little 
surprise." 

"  Do  so,  by  all  means,"  said  Pauline  lightsomely, 


1C6       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

entering   the    carriage.      "I   throw   myself  upon 
your  mercy  and  your  protection." 

Kindelon  soon  afterward  seated  himself  at  her 
side,  and  the  carriage  was  immediately  borne  into 
the  clamorous  region  of  what  we  term  lower 
Broadway. 

"I  hope  I  shall  like  your  surprise,"  said  Pau- 
line, as  she  leaned  back  against  the  cushions,  not 
knowing  how  pretty  she  looked  in  her  patrician 
elegance  of  garb  and  person.  u  But  we  will  not 
talk  of  it;  I  might  guess  what  it  is  if  we  did,  and 
that  would  spoil  all.  My  faith  in  you  shall  be 
blind  and  unquestioning,  and  I  shall  expect  a  pro- 
portionately rich  reward.  .  .  .  What  gulfs  of  dif- 
ference lie  between  that  interesting  little  Mrs. 
Dares  and  most  of  the  women  whom  I  have  met ! 
People  tell  us  that  we  must  travel  to  see  life.  I 
begin  to  think  that  one  great  city  like  New  York 
can  give  us  the  most  majestic  experience,  if  only 
we  know  how  to  receive  it.  Take  my  Aunt 
Cynthia  Poughkeepsie,  for  example,  and  compare 
her  with  Mrs.  Dares !  A  whole  continent  seems 
to  lie  between  them,  and  yet  they  are  continually 
living  at  scarcely  a  stone's-throw  apart." 

Kindelon  gave  a  brisk,  acquiescent  nod. 

"  True   enough,"   he  said.     "  Travel  shows  us 
only  the  outsides  of   men  and  women.      We  go 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW.       167 

abroad  to  discover  better  what  profits  of  obser- 
vation lie  at  home  "... 

The  carriage  at  length  stopped. 

"  Is  my  surprise  all  ready  to  burst  upon  me  ?  " 
asked  Pauline,  at  this  point. 

"Yes.  Its  explosion  is  now  imminent,"  said 
Kindelon,  with  dry  solemnity  of  accent. 

Pauline,  after  she  had  alighted,  surveyed  her 
surroundings  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, — 

"  I  knew  we  were  approaching  the  Battery,  but 
I  did  not  suppose  you  meant  to  stop  there.  And 
why  have  you  stopped,  pray  ?  " 

Kindelon  pointed  toward  a  distant  flash  of  water 
glimpsed  between  the  nude  black  boughs  of  many 
high  trees.  "You  can't  think  what  a  delightful 
stroll  we  could  take  over  yonder,"  he  said,  "  along 
the  esplanade.  The  carriage  could  wait  here  for 
us,  you  know." 

"Certainly,"  acceded  Pauline. 

They  soon  entered  the  noble  park  lying  on 
their  right.  It  was  a  day  of  unusual  warmth  for 
that  wintry  season,  but  the  air  freshened  and 
sharpened  as  they  drew  further  seaward.  There 
are  many  New  Yorkers  to  whom  our  beautiful 
Battery  is  but  a  name,  and  Pauline  was  one  of 
them.  As  she  neared  the  rotund  wooden  building 
of  Castle  Garden,  a  wholly  novel  and  unexpected 


168        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

sight  awaited  her.  Not  long  ago  one  of  the  great 
ocean-steamers  had  discharged  here  many  German 
immigrants,  and  some  of  these  had  come  forth 
from  the  big  sea-fronting  structure  beyond,  to 
meet  the  stares  of  that  dingy,  unkempt  rabble 
which  always  collects,  on  such  occasions,  about  its 
doorways.  Pauline  and  Kindelon  paused  to  watch 
the  poor  dazed -looking  creatures,  with  their 
pinched,  vacuous  faces,  their  timid  miens,  their 
coarse,  dirty  bundles.  The  women  mostly  had 
blond  braids  of  hair  matted  in  close  coils  against 
the  backs  of  their  heads ;  they  wore  no  bonnets,  and 
one  or  two  of  them  led  a  bewildered,  dull-eyed  child 
by  the  hand,  while  one  or  two  more  clasped  infants 
to  their  breasts,  wrapped  in  soiled  shawls.  The 
men  had  a  spare,  haggard,  slavish  demeanor ;  the 
liberal  air  and  sun,  the  very  amplitude  and  bril- 
liancy of  sky  and  water,  seemed  to  cow  and  de- 
press them  ;  they  slunk  instead  of  walking ;  there 
was  something  in  their  visages  of  an  animal  sug- 
gestion ;  they  did  not  appear  entirely  human,  and 
made  you  recall  the  mythic  combinations  of  man 
and  beast. 

"  They  are  Germans,  I  suppose,"  said  Kin- 
delon to  Pauline  ;  "  or  perhaps  they  hail  from 
some  of  the  Austrian  provinces.  Many  of  my 
own  country  people,  the  Irish,  are  not  much 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW,       169 

less  shocking  to  behold  when  they  first  land 
here." 

"  These  do  not  shock  me,"  said  Pauline  ;  "  they 
sadden  me.  They  look  as  if  they  had  not  wit 
enough  to  understand  whither  they  had  come,  but 
quite  enough  to  feel  alarmed  and  distrustful  of 
their  present  environment." 

"  This  drama  of  immigration  is  constantly  un- 
folding itself  here,  day  after  day,"  answered  Kin- 
delon.  "  It  surely  has  its  mournful  side,  but  you, 
as  an  American,  ought  by  all  meatis  to  discern  its 
bright  one.  These  poor  souls  are  the  social  refuse 
of  Europe  ;  they  are  the  pathetic  fugitives  from 
vile  and  time-honored  abuses ;  they  are  the  dreary 
consequences  of  kingdoms  and  empires.  Their 
state  is  almost  brutish,  as  you  see ;  they  don't 
think  themselves  half  as  far  above  the  brute  as 
you  think  them,  depend  upon  it.  They  have  had 
manhood  and  womanhood  crushed  into  the  dust 
for  generations.  It  is  as  much  their  hereditary 
instinct  to  fawn  and  crawl  as  it  is  for  a  dog  to 
bark  or  a  cat  to  lap  milk.  They  represent  the 
enlightened  and  thrifty  peasantry  over-sea.  Bah  ! 
how  it  sickens  a  man  to  consider  that  because  a 
few  insolent  kincrs  must  have  their  hands  kissed 

o 

and  their  pride  of  rule  glutted,  millions  of  their 
people  are  degraded  into  such  doltish  satires  upon 


170       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

humanity !  But  I  mentioned  the  bright  side  of 
this  question,  from  the  American  standpoint." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pauline  quickly,  lifting  her  face  to 
his.  "  I  hope  it  is  really  a  bright  side." 

"It  is  —  very.  America  receives  these  pitiful 
wretches,  and  after  a  few  short  months  they  are 
regenerated,  transformed.  There  has  never,  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  been  a  nation  of  the 
same  magnificent  hospitality  as  this.  Before  such 
droves  of  deplorable  beings  any  other  nation 
would  shut  her  ports  or  arm  her  barriers,  in 
strong  affright.  But  America  (which  I  have  al- 
ways thought  a  much  more  terse  and  expressive 
name  than  the  United  States)  does  nothing  of  the 
sort.  With  a  superb  kindness,  which  has  behind 
it  a  sense  of  unexampled  power,  she  bids  them 
all  welcome.  And  in  a  little  while  the}'  breathe 
her  vitalizing  air  with  a  new  and  splendid  result. 
They  forget  the  soldiers  who  kicked  them,  the 
tyrants  who  made  them  shoulder  muskets  in  de- 
fence of  thrones,  the  taxes  wrung  from  their  scant 
wages  that  princes  might  dance  and  feast.  They 
forget  all  this  gross  despotism;  they  begin  to  live; 
their  very  frames  and  features  change ;  their  mis- 
erable past  is  like  a  broken  fetter  flung  gladly 
away.  And  America  does  all  this  for  them  — 
this,  which  no  other  country  has  done  or  can  do  I " 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       171 

He  spoke  with  a  fine  heat,  an  impressive  en- 
thusiasm. Pauline,  standing  beside  him,  had 
earnestly  fixed  her  look  upon  his  handsome,  virile 
face,  noting  the  spark  that  pierced  his  light-blue 
eyes,  between  the  black  gloss  of  their  lashes,  and 
the  little  sensitive  tremor  that  disturbed  his  nostril. 
She  had  never  felt  more  swayed  by  his  force  of 
personality  than  now.  She  had  never  felt  more 
keenly  than  now  that  his  manful  countenance  and 
shape  were  both  fit  accompaniments  of  an  impor- 
tant and  robust  nature. 

"And  what  does  America  really  do  with  these 
poor,  maltreated  creatures,  after  having  greeted 
and  domesticated  them  ?  "  came  her  next  words, 
filled  with  an  appealing  sincerity  of  utterance. 

Something  appeared  suddenly  to  have  changed 
Kindelon's  mood.  He  laughed  shortly  and  half 
turned  away. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  in  wholly  altered  voice,  "if  they 
are  Irish  she  sometimes  makes  Tammany  politi- 
cians of  them,  and  if  they  are  Germans  she  some- 
times turns  them  into  howling  socialists." 

"  Do  you  mean  what  you  say  ?  "  exclaimed  Pau- 
line almost  indignantly. 

He  bent  his  head  and  looked  at  her  intently,  for 
a  moment,  with  a  covert  play  of  mirth  under  the 
crisp,  dark  flow  of  his  mustache. 


172        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  do,"  he  replied,  with  another 
laugh. 

"  Then  you  think  this  grand  American  hospital- 
ity of  which  you  have  just  spoken  to  be  a  failure 
• — a  sham?" 

"  No,  no  —  far  from  that,"  he  said  rapidly,  and 
with  recurring  seriousness.  "I  was  only  going 
back  to  the  dark  side  of  the  question  —  that  is  all. 
You  know,  I  told  you  it  had  both  its  dark  and  its 
bright  side.  .  .  .  Come,  let  us  leave  this  rabble. 
You  have  not  really  seen  the  Battery  yet.  Its 
true  splendors  lie  just  beyond."  .  .  . 

They  were  presently  strolling  along  the  stone- 
paved  esplanade,  with  its  granite  posts  connected 
by  loops  of  one  continuous  iron  chain  work.  To 
the  south  they  had  a  partial  view  of  Brooklyn, 
that  city  which  is  a  sort  of  reflective  and  imitative 
New  York,  with  masts  bristling  from  her  distant 
wharves  and  more  than  a  single  remote  church- 
spire  telling  of  the  large  religious  impulse  which  has 
given  her  a  quaint  ecclesiastical  fame.  But  west- 
ward your  eye  could  traverse  the  spacious  bay 
until  it  met  the  dull-red  semicircle  of  Fort  Colum- 
bus, planted  low  and  stout  upon  the  shore  of  Gov- 
ernor's Island,  and  the  soft,  swelling,  purplish  hills 
of  Staten  Island,  where  they  loomed  still  further 
beyond.  Boats  of  all  shapes  and  kinds  were  pass- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       173 

ing  over  the  luminous  waters,  from  the  squat,  ugly 
tug,  with  its  hoarse  whistle,  to  the  huge  black 
bulk  of  an  Atlantic  steamer,  bound  for  transpon- 
tine shores  and  soon  to  move  majestically  ocean- 
ward  through  the  fair  sea-gate  of  the  Narrows.  A 
few  loiterers  leaned  against  the  stone  posts,  and  a 
few  more  lounged  upon  the  seats  ranged  further 
inland  along  this  salubrious  marine  promenade. 
Back  among  the  turfy  levels  that  stretched 
broadly  between  the  flagged  pathways,  you  saw 
the  timorous  green  of  hardy  grass,  where  an 
occasional  pale  wreath  of  anmelted  snow  yet 
lingered.  People  were  passing  to  and  fro,  with 
steps  that  rang  hollow  on  the  hard  pavement.  If 
you  listened  intently  you  could  catch  a  kind  of 
dreamy  hum  from  the  vast  city,  which  might  al- 
most be  said  to  begin  its  busy,  tumultuous  life 
here  in  this  very  spot,  thence  pushing  through 
many  a  life-crowded  street  and  avenue,  sheer  on 
to  the  rocky  fields  and  goat-haunted  gutters  of 
dreary  Harlem. 

"  What  a  glorious  bay  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  Kinde- 
lon,  while  he  and  Pauline  stood  on  the  breezy 
esplanade.  "  There  never  was  a  city  with  more 
royal  approaches  than  New  York." 

"  That  fort  yonder,"  said  Pauline,  "  will  per- 
haps thunder  broadsides,  one  day,  at  the  fleet  of 


174        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

an  invading  enemy.  This  is  still  such  a  young 
city  compared  with  those  of  other  lands.  ...  I 
suppose  these  waters,  centuries  later,  will  see 
grand  sights,  as  civilization  augments." 

"Perhaps  they  may  see  very  mournful  ones," 
objected  Kindelon. 

"But  you  are  an  evolutionist,"  declared  Pau- 
line, with  a  priggish  little  pursing  of  the  lips  that 
he  found  secretly  very  amusing.  "  You  believe 
that  everything  is  working  toward  nobler  condi- 
tions, though  you  laughed  at  Leander  Prawle,  the 
optimistic  poet,  the  other  evening,  for  his  roseate 
prophecies  about  the  human  race." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  an  evolutionist,"  answered  Kinde- 
lon. "  I  believe  it  will  all  come  right  by-and- 
by,  like  the  gigantic  unravelling  of  a  gigantic 
skein  .  .  .  But  such  views  don't  prevent  me 
from  feeling  the  probability  of  New  York  being 
reduced  to  ashes  more  than  once  in  the  coming 
centuries." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  said  Pauline.  "  There 
are  often  the  apparent  retrogressions  —  rhythmic 
variations  of  movement  which  temporarily  retard 
all  progress  in  societies." 

Kindelon  burst  into  one  of  his  mellowest  and 
heartiest  laughs.  "  You  are  delicious,"  he  said, 
"  when  you  try  to  recollect  your  Herbert  Spencer. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       175 

You  make  me  think  of  a  flower  that  has  been 
dropped  among  the  leaves  of  an  Algebra." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  like  your  simile," 
said  Pauline,  tossing  her  head  somewhat.  "  It  is 
pleasant  to  be  likened  to  a  flower,  but  in  this  case 
it  is  rather  belittling.  And  if  it  comes  to  recol- 
lecting my  Herbert  Spencer,  perhaps  the  process 
is  not  one  of  very  violent  effort,  either." 

"  Oh,"  said  Kindelon  ruefully,  "  I  have  offended 

you." 

A  sunny  smile  broke  from  her  lips  the  next 
moment.  "I  can't  be  offended,"  she  replied, 
"  when  I  think  how  you  rebuked  my  absurd  out- 
burst of  pedantry.  Ah  !  truly  a  little  knowledge 
is  a  dangerous  thing,  and  I  am  afraid  I  have 
very  little.  .  .  .  How  lovely  it  all  is,  here,"  she 
proceeded,  changing  the  subject,  as  they  now  be- 
gan to  move  onward,  while  they  still  kept  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  smooth-paven  terrace.  "And 
what  a  pity  that  our  dwelling-houses  should  all  be 
away  from  the  water- !  My  grandparents  —  or  my 
great-grandparents,  I  forget  which  —  once  lived 
close  to  the  Battery.  I  recollect  poor  mamma 
telling  me  that  I  had  an  ancestress  whom  they 
used  to  call  the  belle  of  Bowling  Green." 

"That  was  certainly  in  the  days  before  com- 
merce had  seized  every  yard  of  these  unrivalled 


176       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

water-fronts,"  laughed  Kindelon.  "Babylon  on  its 
Euphrates,  or  Nineveh  on  its  Tigris,  could  not 
eclipse  New  York  in  stately  beauty  if  mansions 
were  built  along  its  North  and  East  rivers.  But 
trade  is  a  tyrant,  as  you  see.  She  concedes  to 
you  Fifth  Avenue,  but  she  denies  you  anything 
more  poetic." 

"  I  wonder  who  is  the  belie  of  Bowling  Green 
now?"  said  Pauline,  looking  up  at  her  companion 
with  a  serio-comic  smile. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  afraid  your  favored 
progenitress  was  the  last  of  the  dynasty." 

"  Oh,  no,"  dissented  Pauline,  appearing  to  muse 
a  trifle.  "  I  fancy  there  is  still  a  belle.  Perhaps 
she  has  a  German  or  an  Irish  name." 

"  It  may  be  Kindelon,"  he  suggested. 

"No  —  it  is  something  more  usual  than  that. 
If  she  is  not  a  Schmitt  I  suspect  that  she  is  an 
O'Brien.  I  picture  her  as  pretty,  but  somewhat 
delicate ;  she  works  in  some  dreadful  factory,  you 
know,  not  far  away,  all  through  the  week.  But 
on  Sunday  she  emerges  from  her  narrow  little 
room  in  a  tenement-house,  brave  and  smart  as  you 
please.  The  beaux  fight  for  her  smiles  as  they 
join  her,  and  she  knows  just  how  to  distribute 
them ;  she  is  a  most  astute  little  coquette,  in  her 
way." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       177 

"  And  the  beaux  ?  Are  they  worthy  of  her 
coquetries?" 

"  Oh,  well,  she  thinks  them  so.  I  fear  that  most 
of  them  have  soiled  finger-nails,  and  that  their 
Sunday  coats  fit  them  very  ill  ...  But  now  let 
me  pursue  my  little  romance.  The  poor  creature 
is  terribly  fond  of  one  of  them.  There  is  always 
one,  you  know,  dearer  than  the  rest." 

"Is  there?"  said  Kindelon  oddly.  "You're 
quite  elucidating.  I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Don't  be  sarcastic,"  reproved  Pauline  with 
mock  grimness.  "  Sarcasm  is  always  the  death  of 
romance.  I  have  an  idea  that  the  secretly-adored 
one  is  more  of  a  convert  than  all  his  fellows  to 
the  beautifying  influences  of  soap.  His  Sunday 
face  is  bright  and  fresh;  it  looks  conscientiously 
washed." 

"  And  his  finger-nails?  Does  your  imagination 
also  include  those,  or  do  they  transcend  its 
limits?" 

"I  have  a  vague  perception  of  their  relative 
superiority  .  .  .  Pray  let  me  continue  without 
your  prosaic  interruptions.  Poor  little  Mary  .  .  . 
Did  1  not  say  that  her  first  name  was  Mary,  by- 
the-by?" 

"  I  have  been  under  the  impression  for  several 
seconds  that  you  called  her  Bridget." 


178       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"Very  well.  I  will  call  her  so,  if  you  insist. 
Poor  little  Bridget,  who  steals  forth,  endimanch£e 
and  expectant,  fails  for  an  hour  or  two  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  beloved.  She  is  beginning  to  be 
sadly  bored  by  the  society  of  her  present  three, 
four,  or  five  admirers,  when  suddenly  she  sees  the 
Beloved  approaching.  Then  she  brightens  and 
becomes  quite  sparklingly  animated.  And  when 
her  Ideal  draws  near,  twirling  a  licorice  cane  — 
I  insist  upon  having  her  Ideal  twirl  a  licorice 
cane  —  she  receives  him  with  an  air  of  the  most 
unconcerned  indifference.  It  is  exquisite  to  ob- 
serve the  calm,  careless  way  in  which  she  asks 
him"  .  .  . 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Kindelon,  with  a 
short  and  almost  brusque  tone,  "but  is  not  this 
gentleman  coming  toward  us  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  My  cousin  ?  "  faltered  Pauline. 

"  Yes  —  Mr.  Courtlandt  Beekman." 

Pauline  did  not  answer,  for  she  had  already 
caught  sight  of  Courtlandt,  advancing  in  her  own 
direction  from  that  of  the  South  Ferry,  which 
she  and  Kindelon  were  now  rather  near.  She 
stopped  abruptly  in  her  walk,  and  perceptibly 
colored. 

A  moment  afterward  Courtlandt  saw  both  her- 
self and  her  escort.  He  showed  great  surprise, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       179 

and  then  quickly  conquered  it.  As  he  came  for- 
ward, Pauline  gave  a  shrill,  nervous  laugh.  "I 
suppose  you  feel  like  asking  me  what  on  earth 
I  am  doing  here,"  she  said,  in  by  no  means  her 
natural  voice,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  fluttered 
insecurity  about  her  demeanor. 

"  I  should  n't  think  that  necessary,"  replied 
Courtlandt.  His  sallow  face  had  not  quite  its 
usual  hue,  but  nothing  could  be  steadier  than  the 
cool  light  of  his  eye.  "  It 's  very  evident  that 
you  are  taking  a  stroll  with  Mr.  Kindelon."  He 
then  extended  his  hand,  cased  in  a  yellow  dogskin 
glove,  to  Kindelon.  "How  are  you ?"  he  said  to 
the  man  whom  he  entirely  disliked,  in  a  tone  of 
neutral  civility. 

"Very  well,  this  pleasant  day,"  returned  Kin- 
delon, jovially  imperturbable.  "And  you,  Mr. 
Beekman  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thanks."  He  spoke  as  if  he  were 
stating  a  series  of  brief  commercial  facts.  "I 
had  some  business  with  a  man  over  in  Brooklyn, 
and  took  this  way  back  to  my  office,  which  is  only 
a  street  or  two  beyond."  He  turned  toward  the 
brilliant  expanse  of  the  bay,  lifting  a  big  silver- 
knobbed  stick  which  he  carried,  waving  it  right 
and  left.  "  Very  nice  down  here,  isn't  it?"  he 
went  on.  His  look  now  dwelt  in  the  most  casual 


180       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

way  upon  Pauline.  "Well,  I  must  be  off,"  he 
continued.  "I 've  a  lot  of  business  to-day." 

He  had  passed  them,  when  Pauline,  turning, 
said  composedly  but  sharply  : 

"  Can't  I  take  you  to  your  office,  Court  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  no.  I  won't  trouble  you.  It 's  just  a 
step  from  here."  He  lifted  his  hat  —  an  act  which 
he  had  already  performed  a  second  or  so  pre- 
viously—  and  walked  onward.  He  had  not  be- 
trayed the  least  sign  of  annoyance  all  through 
this  transient  and  peculiarly  awkward  interview. 
He  had  been  precisely  the  same  serene,  quiescent, 
demure  Courtlandt  as  of  old. 

Pauline  stood  for  some  little  time  watching  him 
as  he  gradually  disappeared.  When  the  curve 
near  Castle  Garden  hid  him,  she  gave  an  impa- 
tient, irritated  sigh. 

"  You  seem  vexed,"  said  Kindelon,  who  had 
been  intently  though  furtively  regarding  her. 

"  I  am  vexed,"  she  murmured.  Her  increased 
color  was  still  a  deep  rose. 

"Is  there  anything  very  horrible  in  walking  for 
a  little  while  on  the  Battery?"  he  questioned. 

She  gave  a  broken  laugh.  "  Yes,"  she  answered. 
"  I  'm  afraid  there  is." 

Kindelon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  But  surely 
you  are  your  own  mistress  ?  " 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       181 

"  Rather  too  much  so,"  she  said,  with  lowered 
eyes.  "At  least  that  is  what  people  will  say,  I 
suppose." 

"  I  thought  you  were  above  idle  and  aimless 
comments." 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  carriage." 

"  By  all  means,  if  you  prefer  it." 

They  reversed  their  course,  and  moved  along 
for  some  time  in  silence.  "  I  think  you  must  un- 
derstand," Pauline  suddenly  said,  lifting  her  eyes 
to  Kindelon's  face. 

"  I  understand,"  he  replied,  with  hurt  serious- 
ness, "  that  I  was  having  one  of  the  pleasantest 
hours  I  have  ever  spent,  until  that  man  accosted 
us  like  a  grim  fate." 

"  You  must  not  call  my  cousin  Courtlandt  '  that 
man.'  I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  curtly,  and  a  little  dog- 
gedly. "  I  might  have  spoken  more  ill  of  him, 
but  I  did  n't." 

Pauline  was  biting  her  lips.  "  You  have  no 
right  to  speak  ill  of  him,"  she  retorted.  "  He  is 
my  cousin." 

"  That  is  just  the  reason  why  I  held  my  tongue." 

"  You  don't  like  him,  then  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  I  can  readily  comprehend  it." 


182       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

Kindelon's  light-blue  eyes  fired  a  little  under 
their  black  lashes.  "  You  say  that  in  a  way  I  do 
not  understand,"  he  answered. 

"  You  and  Courtlandt  are  of  a  different  world." 

"  I  am  not  a  combination  of  a  fop  and  a  parson, 
if  you  mean  that." 

Pauline  felt  herself  grow  pale  with  anger  as  she 
shot  a  look  up  into  her  companion's  face. 

"  You  would  not  dare  say  that  to  my  cousin 
himself,"  she  exclaimed  defiantly,  "  though  you 
dare  say  it  to  me  !  " 

Kindelon  had  grown  quite  pale.  His  voice 
trembled  as  he  replied.  "  I  dare  do  anything 
that  needs  the  courage  of  a  man,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  you  knew  me  well  enough  to  be  sure 
of  this." 

"  Our  acquaintance  is  a  recent  one,"  responded 
Pauline.  She  felt  nearly  certain  that  she  had 
shot  a  wounding  shaft  in  those  few  words,  but 
she  chose  to  keep  her  eyes  averted  and  not  see 
whether  wrath  or  pain  had  followed  its  delivery. 

A  long  silence  followed.  They  had  nearly 
reached  her  carriage  when  Kindelon  spoke. 

"  You  are  in  love  with  your  cousin,"  he  said. 

She  threw  back  her  head,  laughing  ironically. 
"  What  a  seer  you  are ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Plow 
did  you  guess  that  ?  " 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       183 

"All,"  he  answered  her,  with  a  melancholy 
gravity,  "  you  will  not  deny  it ! " 

She  repeated  her  laugh,  though  it  rang  less  bit- 
terly than  before.  She  had  expected  him  to  meet 
her  irony  in  a  much  more  rebellious  spirit. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  my  blood-relations  abused 
in  my  hearing,"  she  said.  "  I  am  in  love  with  all 
of  them,  that  way,  if  that  is  the  way  you  mean." 

"  That  is  not  the  way  I  mean." 

They  were  now  but  a  few  yards  from  the  waiting 
carriage.  The  footman,  seeing  them,  descended 
from  his  box,  and  stood  beside  the  opened  door. 

"  I  shall  not  return  with  you,"  continued  Kin- 
delon,  "  since  I  perceive  you  do  not  wish  my  com- 
pany longer.  But  I  offer  you  my  apologies  for 
having  spoken  disparagingly  of  your  cousin.  I 
was  wrong,  and  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"With  the  last  words  he  extended  his  hand. 
Pauline  took  it. 

"  I  have  not  said  that  I  did  not  wish  your  com- 
pany," she  answered,  "  but  if  you  choose  to  infer 
so,  it  is  your  own  affair." 

"  I  do  infer  so,  and  I  infer  more.  .  .  .  It  is  best 
that  I  —  I  should  not  see  you  often,  like  this. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  you  and  me. 
That  cousin  of  yours  hated  me  at  sight.  Your 
aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  hated  me  at  sight  as 


184       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

well.  Perhaps  their  worldly  wisdom  was  by  no 
means  to  blame,  either.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  understand 
more  than  you  imagine  !  " 

There  was  not  only  real  grief  in  Kindelon's 
voice,  but  an  under-throb  of  real  passion. 

"Understand?"  Pauline  murmured.  "What 
do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  That  you  are  as  stanch  and  loyal  as  ever  to 
your  old  traditions.  That  this  idea  of  change,  of 
amelioration,  of  casting  aside  your  so-called  patri- 
cian bondage,  has  only  thd  meaning  of  a  dainty 
gentlewoman's  dainty  caprice  .  .  .  that " — • 

His  voice  broke.  It  almost  seemed  to  her  as  if 
his  large  frame  was  shaken  by  some  visible  tremor. 
She  had  no  thought  of  being  angry  at  him  now. 

She  pitied  him,  and  yet  with  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse her  thought  flew  to  Cora  Dares,  the  sweet- 
faced  young  painter,  and  what  she  herself  had  of 
late  grown  to  surmise,  to  suspect.  A  sort  of  in- 
voluntary triumph  blent  itself  with  her  pity,  on 
this  account. 

She  spoke  in  a  kind  voice,  but  also  in  a  firm 
one.  She  slightly  waved  her  hand  toward  the 
adjacent  carriage.  "Will  you  accompany  me, 
then  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly  for  an  instant.  Then 
he  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  answered.  "  Good- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       185 

by."      He    lifted    his    hat,   and    walked    swiftly 
away. 

She  had  seen  his  eyes  just  before  he  went. 
Their  look  haunted  her.  She  entered  the  car- 
riage, and  was  driven  up  town.  She  told  herself 
that  he  had  behaved  very  badly  to  her.  But  she 
did  not  really  think  this.  She  was  inwardly 
thrilled  by  a  strange,  new  pleasure,  and  she  had 
shed  many  tears  before  reaching  home. 


IX. 

r|  THE  excitement  of  Pauline  had  by  no  means 
passed  when  she  regained  her  home.  Kin- 
delon's  last  words  still  rang  in  her  ears. 

She  declared  to  herself  that  it  was  something 
horrible  to  have  been  called  a  dainty  gentlewoman. 
At  the  same  time,  she  remembered  the  impetu- 
osity of  his  address,  and  instinctively  forgave 
even  while  she  condemned.  Still,  there  remained 
with  her  a  certain  severe  resentful  sense.  u  What 
right,"  she  asked  herself,  "  has  this  man  to  under- 
value and  contemn  my  purpose  ?  Is  it  not  based 
upon  a  proper  and  worthy  impulse  ?  Is  egotism  at 
its  root  ?  Is  not  a  wholesome  disgust  there,  in- 
stead ?  Have  I  not  seen,  with  a  radical  survey,  the 
aimless  folly  of  the  life  led  by  men  and  women 
who  presume  to  call  themselves  social  leaders  and 
social  grandees  ?  Has  Kindelon  any  shred  of  ex- 
cuse for  telling  me  to  my  face  that  I  am  a  mere 
politic  trimmer  ?  " 

She  had  scarcely  been  home  an  hour  before  she 
186 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       187 

received  a  note  from  Cora  Dares.  The  note  was 
brief,  but  very  accurate  in  meaning.  It  informed 
Pauline  that  Mrs.  Dares  had  just  sent  a  message 
to  her  daughter's  studio,  and  that  Cora  would  be 
glad  to  receive  Mrs.  Varick  on  that  or  any  suc- 
ceeding afternoon,  with  the  view  of  a  consultation 
regarding  the  proposed  list  of  guests. 

Pauline  promptly  resolved  to  visit  Cora  that 
same  day.  She  ordered  her  carriage,  and  then 
countermanded  the  order.  Not  solely  because  of 
the  pleasant  weather,  and  not  solely  because  she 
was  in  a  mood  for  walking,  did  she  thus  alter  her 
first  design.  She  reflected  that  there  might  be 
a  touch  of  apparent  ostentation  in  the  use  of  a 
carriage  to  call  upon  this  young  self-supporting 
artist.  She  even  made  a  change  of  toilet,  and 
robed  herself  in  a  street  costume  much  plainer 
than  that  which  she  had  previously  worn. 

Cora  Dares's  studio  was  on  Fourth  Avenue,  and 
one  of  many  others  in  a  large  building  which  ar- 
tists principally  peopled.  It  was  in  the  top  floor  of 
this  structure,  and  was  reached,  like  her  mother's 
sanctum,  by  that  most  simplifying  of  modern 
conveniences,  the  elevator.  Pauline's  knock  at  a 
certain  rather  shadowy  door  in  an  obscure  pas- 
sage was  at  once  answered  by  Cora  herself. 

The  studio  was  extremely  pretty  ;  you  saw  this 


188       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

at  a  glance.  Its  one  ample  window  let  in  a  flood 
of  unrestricted  sunlight.  Its  space  was  small, 
and  doubtless  for  this  reason  a  few  brilliant  dra- 
peries and  effective  though  uncostly  embellish- 
ments had  made  its  interior  bloom  and  glow 
picturesquely  enough.  But  it  contained  no  orna- 
ment of  a  more  alluring  pattern  than  Cora  her- 
self, as  Pauline  soon  decided. 

"  Pray  don't  let  me  disturb  you  in  your  paint- 
ing," said  the  latter,  after  an  exchange  of  greet- 
ings had  occurred.  "I  see  that  you  were  busily 
engaged  at  your  easel.  I  hope  you  can  talk  and 
paint  at  the  same  time." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Cora,  with  her  bright,  winsome 
smile.  She  was  dressed  in  some  dark,  soft  stuff, 
whose  sombre  hue  brought  into  lovely  relief  the 
chestnut  ripples  of  her  hair  and  the  placid  refine- 
ment of  her  clear-chiselled  face.  "  But  if  I  am  to 
give  you  a  list  of  names,"  she  went  on,  "that  will 
be  quite  another  matter." 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  list  of  names,"  replied 
Pauline,  who  had  just  seated  herself.  "I  mean, 
not  for  the  present.  It  will  be  more  convenient 
for  you,  no  doubt,  to  send  me  this  list  to-morrow 
or  next  day.  Meanwhile  I  shall  be  willing  to  wait 
very  patiently.  I  am  in  no  great  hurry,  Miss 
Dares.  It  was  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  com- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       189 

municate  with  me  in  this  expeditious  way.  And 
now,  if  you  will  only  extend  your  benevolence  a 
little  further  and  give  an  hour  or  two  of  future 
leisure  toward  the  development  of  my  little  plan, 
I  shall  feel  myself  still  more  in  your  debt." 

Cora  nodded  amiably.  "  Perhaps  that  would  be 
the  better  arrangement,"  she  said.  Her  profile 
was  now  turned  toward  Pauline,  as  she  stood  in 
front  of  her  canvas  and  began  to  make  little 
touches  upon  it  with  her  long,  slim  brush.  "I 
think,  Mrs.  Varick,  that  I  can  easily  send  you  the 
list  to-morrow.  I  will  make  it  out  to-night;  I 
shall  not  forget  anybody ;  at  least  I  am  nearly  sure 
that  I  shall  not." 

"  You  are  more  than  kind,"  said  Pauline.  She 
paused  for  a  slight  while,  and  then  added :  "  You 
spend  all  day  here,  Miss  Dares  ?  " 

"All  day,"  was  Cora's  answer;  and  the  face 
momentarily  turned  in  Pauline's  direction,  with 
its  glimpse  of  charming,  dimpled  chin,  with  the 
transitory  light  from  its  sweet,  blue,  lustrous  eyes, 
affected  her  as  a  rarity  of  feminine  beauty.  "  But 
I  often  have  my  hours  of  stupidity,"  Cora  con- 
tinued. "  It  is  not  so  with  me  to-day.  I  have 
somehow  seized  my  idea  and  mastered  it,  such  as 
it  is.  You  can  see  nothing  on  the  canvas  as  yet. 
It  is  all  obscure  and  sketchy." 


190       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"It  is  still  very  vague,"  said  Pauline.  "But 
have  you  no  finished  pictures  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  five  or  six.  They  are  some  yonder,  if 
you  choose  to  look  at  them." 

"I  do  choose,"  Pauline  replied,  rising.  She 
went  toward  the  wall  which  Cora  had  indicated 
by  a  slight  wave  of  her  brush. 

The  pictures  were  four  in  number.  They  were 
without  frames.  Pauline  examined  each  atten- 
tively. She  knew  nothing  of  Art  in  a  technical 
and  professional  way ;  but  she  had  seen  scores  of 
good  pictures  abroad ;  she  knew  what  she  liked 
without  being  able  to  tell  why  she  liked  it,  and 
not  seldom  it  befell  that  she  liked  what  was 
intrinsically  and  solidly  good. 

"You  paint  figures  as  if  you  had  studied  in 
foreign  schools,"  she  said,  quite  suddenly,  turning 
toward  her  hostess. 

"  I  studied  in  Paris  for  a  year,"  Cora  replied. 
"That  was  all  mamma  could  afford  for  me.''  And 
she  gave  a  sad  though  by  no  means  despondent 
little  laugh. 

"You  surely  studied  to  advantage,"  declared 
Pauline.  "  Your  color  makes  me  think  of  Henner 
.  .  .  and  your  flesh-tints,  too.  And  as  for  these 
two  landscapes,  they  remind  me  of  Daubigny.  It 
is  a  proof  of  your  remarkable  talent  that  you 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       191 

should  paint  both  landscapes  and  figure-pieces 
with  so  much  positive  success." 

Cora's  face  was  glowing,  now.  "  You  have  just 
named  two  artists,'1  she  exclaimed,  "whose  work 
I  have  always  specially  admired  and  loved.  If  I 
resemble  either  of  them  in  the  least,  I  am  only 
too  happy  and  thankful !  " 

Pauline  was  silent  for  several  minutes.  She 
was  watching  Cora  with  great  intentness.  "  Ah  ! 
how  I  envy  you ! "  she  at  length  murmured,  and 
as  she  thus  spoke  her  voice  betrayed  excessive 
feeling. 

"  I  thought  you  envied  nobody,"  answered  Cora, 
somewhat  wonderingly. 

Pauline  gave  a  little  soft  cry.  "  You  mean  be- 
cause I  am  rich,  no  doubt ! "  she  said,  a  kind  of 
melancholy  sarcasm  tinging  her  words. 

"Riches  mean  a  great  deal,"  said  Cora. 

"But  if  you  have  no  special  endowment  that 
separates  you  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  you  are 
still  a  woman." 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  be  a  woman." 

"  No !  because  you  are  a  living  pro-test  against 
the  inferiority  of  our  sex.  You  can  do  some- 
thing ;  you  need  not  forever  have  men  doing 
something  for  }rou,  like  the  great  majority  of  us!" 
Pauline's  gray  eyes  had  kindled,  and  her  lips  were 


192       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

slightly  tremulous  as  they  began  to  shape  her  next 
sentence.  "  Most  of  us  are  sorry  to  be  women," 
she  went  on,  "  but  I  think  a  great  many  of  us  are 
sorry  to  be  the  sort  of  women  fate  or  circum- 
stance makes  us.  There  is  the  galling  trouble. 
If  we  have  no  gift,  like  yours,  that  can  compel 
men's  recognition  and  respect,  we  must  content 
ourselves  with  being  merged  into  the  big  common- 
place multitude.  And  to  be  merged  into  the  big 
commonplace  multitude  is  to  be  more  or  less 
despised.  This  may  sound  like  the  worst  kind  of 
cynicism,  but  I  assure  you,  Miss  Dares,  that  it  is 
by  no  means  as  flippant  as  that.  I  have  seen 
more  of  life  than  you  .  .  .  why  not?  You  per- 
haps have  heard  a  fact  or  two  about  my  past.  I 
have  had  a  past  —  and  not  a  pleasant  one,  either. 
And  experience  (which  is  the  name  we  give  our 
disappointments,  very  often)  has  taught  me  that  if 
we  could  see  down  to  the  innermost  depth  of  any 
good  man's  liking  for  any  good  woman,  we  would 
find  there  an  undercurrent  of  real  contempt." 

"  Contempt !  "  echoed  Cora.  She  had  slightly 
thrown  back  her  head,  either  in  dismay  or  denial. 

"  Yes  —  contempt,"  asseverated  Pauline.  "  I 
believe,  in  all  honesty,  at  this  hour,  that  if  the 
charm  which  our  sex  exerts  over  the  other  —  the 
physical  fascination,  and  the  fascination  of  senti- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       193 

ment,  tenderness,  idealization — had  never  existed, 
we  would  have  been  literally  crushed  out  of  being 
long  ago.  Men  have  permitted  us  to  live  thus  far 
through  the  centuries,  not  because  we  are  weaker 
than  they,  but  because  some  extraordinary  and 
undiscoverable  law  has  made  them  bow  to  our 
weakness  instead  of  destroying  it  outright.  They 
always  destroy  every  other  thing  weaker  than 
themselves,  except  woman.  They  have  no  com- 
punction, no  hesitation.  History  will  show  you 
this,  if  you  accept  its  annals  in  an  unbiassed  spirit. 
They  either  eat  the  lower  animals,  or  else  put 
them  into  usages  of  the  most  severe  labor.  They 
leave  woman  unharmed  because  Nature  has  so 
commanded  them.  But  here  they  are  the  slaves 
of  an  edict  which  they  obey  more  blindly,  more 
instinctively,  than  even  the  best  of  them  know." 

"I  can't  believe  that  these  are  ypur  actual 
views!"  now  exclaimed  Cora.  "I  can't  believe 
that  you  rate  the  sacred  emotion  of  love  as  some- 
thing to  be  discussed  like  a  mere  scientific  prob- 
lem !  " 

Pauline  went  up  to  the  speaker  and  stood  close 
beside  her  while  she  responded, — 

"  Ah !  my  dear  Miss  Dares,  the  love  between 
man  and  woman  is  entitled  to  no  more  respect 
than  the  law  of  gravitation.  Both  belong  to  the 


194       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

great  unknown  scheme.  We  may  shake  our  heads 
in  transcendental  disapprobation,  but  it  is  quite 
useless.  The  loftiest  affection  of  the  human 
heart  is  no  more  important  and  no  more  mysteri- 
ous than  the  question  of  why  Newton's  apple  fell 
from  the  tree  or  why  a  plant  buds  in  spring.  All 
causes  are  unknown,  and  to  seek  their  solution  is 
to  idly  grope." 

Cora  was  regarding  Pauline,  as  the  latter  fin- 
ished, with  a  look  full  of  sad  interest.  "You 
speak  like  .  .  .  like  some  one  whom  we  both 
know,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "You  speak  as  if 
you  did  not  believe  in  God." 

"I  do  not  disbelieve  in  God,"  quickly  answered 
Pauline.  "The  carelessly-applied  term  of 'athe- 
ist '  is  to  my  thinking  a  name  fit  only  for  some 
pitiable  braggart.  He  who  denies  the  existence  of 
a  God  is  pf  no  account  among  people  of  sense ; 
but  he  who  says,  'I  am  ignorant  of  all  that  con- 
cerns the  conceivability  of  a  God'  has  full  right 
to  express  such  ignorance." 

Cora  slowly  inclined  her  head.  "That  is  the 
way  I  have  heard  him  talk,"  she  said,  almost  mus- 
ingly. Then  she  gave  a  quick  glance  straight 
into  Pauline's  watchful  eyes.  "I  —  I  mean,"  she 
added,  confusedly,  as  if  she  had  betrayed  herself 
into  avowing  some  secret  reflection,  '>  that  Mr. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       195 

Kindelon  has  more  than  once  spoken  in  a  similar 
way." 

"  Mr.  Kindelon  ?  "  replied  Pauline,  with  a  gentle, 
peculiar,  interrogative  emphasis.  "And  did  you 
agree  with  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  swiftly  answered  Cora.  "  I  have  a  faith 
that  he  cannot  shake  —  that  no  one  can  shake ! 
But  he  has  not  tried  to  do  so ;  I  must  render  him 
that  justice." 

Pauline  turned  away,  with  a  faint  laugh.  "The 
wise  men,  who  have  thought  and  therefore 
doubted,"  she  returned,  "  are  often  fond  of  ortho- 
doxy in  the  women  whom  they  like.  They  think 
it  picturesque." 

She  laughed  again,  and  Cora's  eyes  followed  her 
as  she  moved  toward  the  pictures  which  she  had 
previously  been  examining.  "  Let  us  change  the 
subject,"  she  went  on,  with  a  note  of  cold  com- 
posure in  her  voice.  "  I  see  that  you  don't  like 
rationalism  .  .  .  Well,  you  are  a  poet,  as  your 
pictures  tell  me,  and  few  poets  like  to  do  more 
than  feel  first  and  think  afterward.  .  .  .  Are  these 
pictures  for  sale,  Miss  Dares  ?  " 

Cora's  answer  came  a  trifle  tardily.  "  Three  of 
them,"  she  said. 

"  Which  three  ?  "  Pauline  asked,  somewhat  care- 
lessly, as  it  seemed. 


196       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"All  but  that  study  of  a  head.  As  you  see,  it 
is  scarcely  finished." 

"  It  is  the  one  I  should  like  to  purchase.  You 
say  it  is  not  for  sale  ?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Varick." 

"  It  is  very  clever,"  commented  Pauline,  almost 
as  though  she  addressed  her  own  thoughts.  She 
turned  her  face  toward  Cora's ;  it  wore  an  indefi- 
nite flickering  sort  of  smile.  "  Has  it  any  name?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  is  a  mere  study." 

"  I  like  it  extremely  .  .  .  By  the  way,  is  it  a 
portrait?" 

Cora  did  not  reply  for  several  seconds.  She 
had  begun  to  put  little  touches  upon  her  canvas 
again  —  or  to  seem  as  if  she  were  so  putting  them. 

"  It 's  not  good  enough  to  be  called  anything," 
she  presently  replied. 

"  I  want  it,"  said  Pauline.  She  was  looking 
straight  at  the  picture  —  a  small  square  of  rather 
recklessly  rich  color.  "  I  want  it  very  much  in- 
deed. I  .  .  I  will  give  you  a  considerable  sum 
for  it." 

She  named  the  sum  that  she  was  willing  to 
give,  and  in  an  admirably  cool,  loitering  voice. 
It  was  something  that  surpassed  any  price  ever 
proposed  to  Cora  Dares  for  one  of  her  paintings, 
by  several  hundreds  of  dollars. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       197 

Cora  kept  silent.  She  was  touching  her  can- 
vas. Pauline  waited.  Suddenly  she  turned  and 
regarded  her  companion. 

"Well?  "she  said. 

Cora  flung  aside  her  brush.  The  two  women 
faced  each  other. 

"  I  think  you  are  cruel ! "  cried  Cora.  It  was 
evident  that  she  was  nearly  in  straits  for  speech, 
and  her  very  lovely  blue  eyes  seemed  to  sparkle 
through  unshed  tears.  "I  —  I  told  you  that  I 
did  not  wish  to  sell  the  picture,"  she  hurried  on. 
"I  —  I  don't  call  it  a  picture  at  all,  as  I  also  told 
you.  It  —  it  is  far  from  being  worth  the  price 
that  you  have  offered  me.  It  .  .  it  .  ."  And 
here  Cora  paused.  Her  last  words  had  a  choked 
sound. 

Pauline  was  looking  at  her  fixedly  but  quite 
courteously. 

"It  is  Ralph  Kindelon's  portrait,"  she  said. 

Cora  started.  "  Well !  and  if  it  is  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

Instantly,  after  that,  Pauline  went  over  to  her 
and  took  one  of  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Dares,"  she  said,  with  that  sin- 
gular sweetness  which  she  could  always  throw 
into  her  voice,  "  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me.  If  you 
really  wish  to  retain  that  picture  —  and  I  see  that 


198       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

you  do  —  why,  then  I  would  not  take  it  from  you 
even  as  a  voluntary  gift.  Let  us  speak  no  more  on 
the  subject." 

Cora  gave  a  pained,  difficult  smile,  now.  She 
looked  full  into  Pauline's  steady  eyes  for  a  brief 
space,  and  then  withdrew  her  own. 

"  Very  well,"  she  almost  faltered,  "  let  us  speak 
no  more  on  the  subject."  .  .  . 

"  I  have  been  horribly  merciless,"  Pauline  told 
herself,  when  she  had  quitted  Cora  Dares's  studio 
about  ten  minutes  later.  "  I  have  made  that  poor 
girl  confess  to  me  that  she  loves  Ralph  Kindelon. 
And  how  suited  they  are  to  each  other !  She  has 
actual  genius  —  he  is  brimming  with  intellectual 
power.  I  have  made  a  sad  failure  in  my  visit 
to  Cora  Dares.  ...  I  hope  all  my  vain  exploits 
among  these  people,  who  are  so  different  from  the 
people  with  whom  my  surroundings  of  fortune 
and  destiny  have  thus  far  brought  me  into  natural 
contact,  will  not  result  so  disastrously." 

Her  thoughts  returned  to  Kindelon,  as  she 
walked  homeward,  and  to  the  hostile  terms  on 
which  they  had  parted  but  a  few  hours  ago. 

"My  project  begins  badly,"  she  again  mused. 
"  Everything  about  it  seems  to  promise  ill.  But 
it  is  too  late  to  draw  back.  Besides,  I  am  very  far 
from  wishing  to  draw  back.  I  am  like  an  enthu- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW.       199 

siastic  explorer;  I  want  to  face  new  discoveries 
in  the  very  teeth  of  disaster." 

On  reaching  home  she  had  scarcely  time  to  take 
off  her  bonnet  before  the  name  of  her  cousin  Court- 
landt  was  brought  to  her  by  a  servant.  She  went 
down  into  the  little  reception-room  to  meet  him, 
with  rather  lively  anticipations  of  being  forced  to 
put  herself  on  the  defensive.  Her  sensations  had 
not  been  unlike  those  with  which  we  regard  the 
lowering  of  the  mercury  in  a  thermometer,  while 
ordering  extra  fuel  so  as  to  be  on  guard  against  a 
sudden  chill. 

Courtlandt  was  standing  before  the  silver-grated 
hearth-place ;  he  watched  the  black,  tumbled  blocks 
of  coal  with  eyes  bent  down  upon  their  snapping 
and  crackling  flames  as  Pauline  appeared.  He  did 
not  immediately  raise  his  eyes  as  her  entering  step 
sounded.  But  when  he  did  raise  them,  she  saw 
that  he  was  clad  in  his  old  impregnable  calm. 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  not  far  from  the  fire. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  with  an  amused  smile  playing 
about  her  lips,  "  I  suppose  you  have  come  to  scold 
me  dreadfully." 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  darted  away,  there  at  the  Battery,  as  if 
you  were  fearfully  shocked." 

"  I  don't  think  I  darted  away. 


200        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

"  Oh,  well,  we  won't  split  hairs.  You  would  n't 
stay,  and  you  might  easily  have  stayed.  You 
pleaded  stress  of  business,  and  you  had  n't  an}r, 
or  this  appearance  up-town  at  so  early  an  hour 
could  n't  have  taken  place." 

"  It  is  remarkable,"  said  Courtlandt,  with  his 
gravest  serenity,  "  how  you  pierce  through  peo- 
ple's pitiful  disguises.  You  make  me  feel  con- 
science-stricken by  a  realization  of  my  own  de- 
ceit." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  said  Pauline,  with  a  slight, 
curt  laugh.  "  For  then  you  will,  perhaps,  express 
your  disapprobation  less  impudently." 

"  I  might  speak  pretty  plainly  to  you  and  yet 
not  be  at  all  impudent." 

Pauline  threw  back  her  head  with  a  defiant 
stolidity.  "  Oh,  speak  as  plainly  as  you  please," 
she  said.  "  I  shall  have  my  own  views  of  just  how 
impudent  you  are.  I  generally  have." 

"  You  did  something  that  was  a  good  deal  off 
color  for  a  woman  who  wants  herself  always  re- 
garded as  careful  of  the  proprieties.  I  found  you 
doing  it,  and  I  was  shocked,  as  you  say." 

Pauline  straightened  herself  in  her  chair.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  replied,  a  little 
crisply,  "  by  '  off  color.'  I  suppose  it  is  slang,  and 
I  choose,  with  a  good  reason,  to  believe  that  it 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       201 

conveys  an  unjustly  contemptuous  estimate  of  my 
very  harmless  act.  I  took  a  stroll  along  that  beau- 
tiful Battery  with  a  friend." 

"  With  an  adventuring  newspaper  fellow,  you 
mean,"  said  Courtlandt,  cool  as  always,  but  a  little 
more  sombre. 

Pauline  rose.  "  I  will  stand  a  certain  amount 
of  rudeness  toward  myself,"  she  declared,  "  but  I 
will  not  stand  sneers  at  Mr.  Kindelon.  No  doubt 
if  you  had  met  me  walking  with  some  empty- 
headed  fop,  like  Fyshkille,  or  Van  Arsdale,  you 
would  have  thought  my  conduct  perfectly  proper." 

"  I  'd  have  thought  it  devilish  odd,"  said  Court- 
landt, "  and  rather  bad  form.  I  've  no  more  re- 
spect for  those  fellows  than  you  have.  But  if  you 
got  engaged  to  one  of  them  I  should  n't  call  it  a 
horrible  disaster." 

Pauline  smiled,  with  a  threat  of  rising  ire  in 
the  smile.  "  Who  thought  of  my  becoming  '  en- 
gaged' to  anybody?"  she  asked.  And  her  accent- 
uation of  the  word  which  Courtlandt  had  just 
employed  produced  the  effect  of  its  being  scorn- 
fully quoted. 

He  was  toying  with  the  links  of  his  watch- 
chain,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  lowered  while  he  said : 
"  Are  you  in  love  with  this  Kindelon  chap  ?  " 

She  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.      "I  —  I 


202       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

shall  leave  the  room,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "  if  you 
presume  to  talk  any  further  in  this  strain." 

"  You  are  a  very  rich  woman,"  pursued  Court- 
landt.  What  he  said  had  somehow  the  effect  of  a 
man  exploding  something  with  a  hand  of  admira- 
ble firmness. 

Pauline  bit  her  lips  excitedly.  She  made  a 
movement  as  if  about  to  quit  the  chamber.  Then 
some  new  decision  seemed  to  actuate  her.  "  Oh, 
Court !  "  she  exclaimed  reproachfully,  "  how  can 
you  treat  me  in  this<  unhandsome  way?" 

He  had  lifted  his  eyes,  now.  "  I  am  trying  to 
save  you  from  making  a  ridiculous  marriage,"  he 
said.  "  I  tried  once  before  —  a  good  while  ago  — 
to  save  you  from  making  a  frightful  one.  My 
attempt  was  useless  then.  I  suppose  it  will  be 
equally  useless  now." 

Pauline  gave  an  agitated  moan,  and  covered  her 
face  with  both  hands.  .  .  .  Hideous  memories  had 
been  evoked  by  the  words  to  which  she  had  just 
listened.  But  immediately  afterward  a  knock 
sounded  at  the  partly  closed  door  which  led  into 
the  hall.  She  started,  uncovered  her  face,  and 
moved  toward  this  door.  Courtlandt  watched  her 
while  she  exchanged  certain  low  words  with  a 
servant.  Then,  a  little  later,  she  approached  him, 
and  he  saw  that  her  agitation  had  vanished,  and 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       203 

that  it  appeared  to  have  so  vanished  because  of  a 
strong  controlling  effort. 

"  Mr.  Kindelon  is  here,"  she  said,  in  abrupt  un- 
dertone. "  If  you  do  not  wish  to  meet  him  you 
can  go  back  into  the  dining-room."  She  made  a 
gesture  toward  a  portiere  not  far  away.  "  That 
leads  to  the  dining-room,"  she  went  on.  "Act 
just  as  you  choose,  but  be  civil,  be  courteous,  or 
do  not  remain." 

"  I  will  not  remain,"  said  Courtlandt. 

He  had  passed  from  the  room  some  little  time 
before  Kindelon  entered  it. 

"  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me,"  said  the 
latter,  facing  Pauline.  His  big  frame  had  a  cer- 
tain droop  that  suggested  humility  and  even  con- 
trition. He  held  his  soft  hat  crushed  in  one 
hand,  and  he  made  no  sign  of  greeting  with  the 
other. 

"  No,"  said  Pauline  softly,  "  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  you."  She  was  waiting  for  the  sound  of  the 
hall-door  outside ;  she  soon  heard  it,  and  knew 
that  it  meant  the  exit  of  Courtlandt.  Then  she 
went  on :  "  but  since  you  are  here,  will  you  not 
be  seated  ?  " 

"  Not  until  you  have  forgiven  me ! "  Kindelon 
murmured.  Between  the  rich,  fervent,  emotional 
voice  which  now  addressed  her  and  the  even  regu- 


204       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

larity  of  the  tones  she  had  just  heard,  what  a 
world  of  difference  lay ! 

"  You  were  certainly  rude,"  she  said,  thinking 
how  chivalrously  his  repentance  became  him,  and 
how  strong  a  creature  he  looked  in  this  weaker 
submissive  phase.  "You  know  that  I  had  only 
the  most  friendly  feelings  toward  you.  You  ac- 
cused me  of  actual  hypocrisy.  But  I  will  choose 
to  believe  that  you  did  not  mean  to  lose  your 
temper  in  that  positively  wild  way.  Yes,  I  for- 
give you,  and,  in  token  of  my  forgiveness  there  is 
my  hand." 

She  extended  her  hand,  and  as  she  did  so  he 
literally  sprang  forward,  seizing  it.  The  next  in- 
stant he  had  stooped  and  kissed  it.  After  that  he 
sank  into  a  near  chair. 

"  If  you  had  not  forgiven  me,"  he  said,  "  I 
should  have  been  a  very  miserable  man.  Your 
pardon  makes  me  happy.  Now  I  am  ready  to 
turn  over  a  new  page  of  —  of  friendship  —  yes, 
friendship,  of  course.  I  shall  never  say  those 
absurd,  accusatory  things  again.  What  right  have 
I  to  say  them?  What  right  have  I  to  anything 
more  than  the  honor  of  your  notice,  as  long  as 
you  choose  to  bestow  it?  I  have  thought  every- 
thing over ;  I  've  realized  that  the  fact  of  your 
being  willing  to  know  me  at  all  is  an  immense 
extended  privilege ! " 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       205 

Pauline  still  remained  standing.  She  had  half 
turned  from  him  while  he  thus  impetuously  spoke ; 
she  was  staring  down  into  the  ruddy  turmoil  of 
the  fire. 

"  Don't  say  anything  more  with  regard  to  the 
little  disagreement,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  all 
ended.  Now  let  us  talk  of  other  things." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  let  quite  a  long 
pause  ensue  while  she  still  kept  her  eyes  upon 
the  snapping  coal-blocks.  At  length  she  con- 
tinued, — 

"  I  shall  have  the  full  list  of  Mrs.  Dares's  guests 
quite  soon.  It  has  been  promised  me." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  heard  him  say,  a  little  absently. 

"  I  shall,  no  doubt,  have  it  by  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," she  went  on.  "  Then  I  shall  begin  my  ar- 
rangements. I  shall  issue  invitations  to  those 
whom  I  wish  for  my  guests.  And  I  shall  expect 
you  to  help  me.  You  promised  to  help  me,  as 
you  know.  There  will  be  people  on  the  list  whom 
I  have  not  yet  met  —  a  good  many  of  them.  You 
shall  tell  me  all  about  these,  or,  if  you  prefer,  you 
shall  simply  draw  your  pen  through  their  names  — 
Why  don't  you  ask  me  how  I  shall  obtain  this 
boasted  list?" 

"  You  mean  that  Mrs.  Dares  will  send  it  ?  "  she 
heard  him  ask. 


206       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"No,  I  mean  that  I  shall  secure  it  from  her 
daughter." 

"  Her  daughter  ?" 

"Yes  —  Cora.  I  have  been  to  see  Cora.  I 
visited  her  studio  —  By  the  way,  what  a  good 
portrait  she  has  there  of  you.  It  is  really  an 
excellent  likeness." 

She  slowly  turned  and  let  a  furtive  look  sweep 
his  face.  It  struck  her  that  he  was  confused  and 
discomfited  in  a  wholly  new  way. 

"  I  think  it  a  fair  likeness,"  he  returned.  "  But 
I  did  not  sit  for  it,"  he  added  quickly.  "  She 
painted  it  from  memory.  It  —  it  is  for  sale  like 
her  other  things." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  for  sale,"  said  Pauline.  She 
saw  his  color  alter  a  little  as  her  gaze  again 
found  stealthy  means  of  scrutinizing  it.  "  Miss 
Cora  told  me  that  very  decidedly.  She  wants 
to  keep  it  —  no  doubt  as  a  precious  memento.  I 
thought  the  wish  very  flattering  —  I  —  I  won- 
dered why  you  did  not  ask  Cora  Dares  to  marry 
you." 

She  perceived  that  he  had  grown  pale,  now,  as 
he  rose  and  said, — 

"  I  think  I  shall  never  ask  any  woman  to  marry 
me."  He  walked  slowly  toward  the  door,  pausing 
at  a  little  distance  from  its  threshold.  "When 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       207 

you  want  me,"  lie  now  proceeded,  "  will  you  send 
for  me  ?  Then  I  will  most  gladly  come." 

"  You  mean  —  about  the  salon  ?  "  she  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Yes  —  about  the  salon.  In  that  and  all  other 
ways  I  am  yours  to  command  — " 

When  he  had  gone  she  sat  musing  before  the  fire 
for  nearly  an  hour.  That  night,  at  a  little  after 
nine  o'clock,  she  was  surprised  to  receive  a  copious 
list  of  names  from  Cora  Dares,  accompanied  by  a 
brief  note. 

She  sent  for  Kindelon  on  the  following  day,  and 
they  spent  the  next  evening  together  from  eight 
until  eleven.  He  was  his  old,  easy,  gay,  brilliant 
self  again.  "What  had  occurred  between  them 
seemed  to  have  been  absolutely  erased  from  his 
memory.  It  almost  piqued  her  to  see  how  per- 
fectly he  played  what  she  knew  to  be  a  part. 

Soon  afterward  her  invitations  were  sent  out  for 
the  following  Thursday.  Each  one  was  a  simple 
"At  Home."  She  awaited  Thursday  with  much 
interest  and  suspense. 


X. 

l>  Y  nine  o'clock  on  Thursday  evening  all  her 
~^^  guests  had  arrived.  They  comfortably  filled 
her  two  smart  and  brilliant  drawing-rooms,  but 
quite  failed  to  produce  the  crowded  eifect  notice- 
able in  Mrs.  Dares's  less  ample  quarters. 

Pauline  saw  with  pleasure  that  the  fine  pictures, 
bronzes,  and  bric-a-brac  which  she  had  brought 
from  Europe  were  most  admiringly  noticed. 
Small  groups  were  constantly  being  formed  be- 
fore this  canvas  or  that  cabinet,  table,  and  pedes- 
tal. She  had  kept  for  some  time  quite  close  to 
Mrs.  Dares,  having  a  practical  sense  of  the  little 
lady's  valuable  social  assistance  on  an  occasion 
like  the  present,  apart  from  all  personal  feelings 
of  liking. 

"  You  make  it  much  easier  for  me,"  she  said  at 
length,  after  the  assemblage  appeared  complete 
and  no  new  arrivals  had  occurred  for  at  least  ten 
minutes.  "  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come,  when 
I  know  that  you  make  a  rule  of  not  going  any- 
where." 

208 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       209 

"  This  was  a  very  exceptional  invitation,  my 
dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Dares.  "  It  was  something 
wholly  out  of  the  common,  you  know." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Pauline,  with  her  sweet- 
est laugh.  "  You  wanted  to  see  your  mantle  de- 
scend, after  a  manner,  upon  my  younger  shoulders. 
You  wanted  to  observe  whether  I  should  wear  it 
gracefully  or  not." 

"  I  had  few  doubts  on  that  point,"  was  the  slow, 
soft  reply. 

"  So  you  really  think  me  a  worthy  pupil  ?  "  con- 
tinued Pauline,  glancing  about  her  with  an  air  of 
pretty  and  very  pardonable  pride. 

"  You  have  a  most  lovely  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Dares,  "and  one  exquisitely  designed  for  the 
species  of  entertainment  which  you  are  generous 
enough  to  have  resolved  upon." 

"  Ah,  don't  say  '  generous,'  "  broke  in  Pauline. 
"  You  give  me  a  twinge  of  conscience.  I  am 
afraid  my  motive  has  been  quite  a  selfishly  ambi- 
tious one.  At  least,  I  sometimes  fancy  so.  How 
many  human  motives  are  thoroughly  disinterested? 
But  if  I  succeed  with  my  salon  —  which  before 
long  I  hope  to  make  as  fixed  and  inevitable  a 
matter  as  the  day  of  the  week  on  which  it  is 
held  —  the  result  must  surely  be  a  most  salutary 
and  even  reformatory  one.  In  securing  my  guer- 


210       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

don  for  work  accomplished  I  shall  have  done  so- 
ciety a  solid  benefit ;  and  when  I  wear  my  little 
crown  I  shall  feel,  unlike  most  royal  personages, 
that  it  is  blessed  by  friends  and  not  stained  by  the 
blood  of  enemies." 

Her  tone  was  one  of  airy  jest,  but  a  voice  at  her 
side  instantly  said,  as  she  finished,  — 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that.  Very  few  crowns 
are  ever  won  without  some  sort  of  bloodshed." 

She  turned  and  saw  Kindelon,  who  had  over- 
heard nearly  all  her  last  speech  to  Mrs.  Dares. 
Something  in  his  manner  lessened  the  full  smile 
on  Pauline's  lips  without  actually  putting  it  to 
flight. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  bore  gloomy  tidings,"  she 
said. 

Kindelon's  eyes  twinkled,  though  his  mouth  pre- 
served perfect  sobriety.  "  You  have  done  precisely 
what  I  expected  you  would  do,"  he  said,  "  in  un- 
dertaking an  arbitrary  selection  of  certain  guests 
and  an  arbitrary  exclusion  of  certain  others.  You 
have  raised  a  growl." 

"A  growl ! "  murmured  Mrs.  Dares,  with  a  slight 
dismayed  gesture. 

Pauline's  face  grew  serious.  "  Who,  pray,  are 
the  growlers  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  the  chief  one  is  that  incorrigible  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       211 

irrepressible  Barrowe.  He  lias  his  revolutionary 
opinions,  of  course.  He  is  always  having  revolu- 
tionary opinions.  He  makes  me  think  of  the 
Frenchman  who  declared  that  if  he  ever  found 
himself  in  Heaven  his  first  impulse  would  be  to 
throw  up  barricades." 

Pauline  bit  her  lip.  "  Barricades  are  usually 
thrown  up  in  streets,"  she  said,  with  a  faint,  ired 
ring  of  the  voice.  "  Mr.  Barrowe  probably  forgets 
that  fact." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  like  to  show  him 
the  street  now?  "  asked  Kindelon. 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  what  his  alleged  growl 
consists." 

"  I  warned  you  against  him,  but  you  thought  it 
best  that  he  should  be  invited.  Since  you  had  de- 
cided upon  weeding,  there  was  no  one  whom  you 
could  more  profitably  weed." 

"  Mr.  Barrowe  has  a  very  kind  heart,"  here 
asserted  Mrs.  Dares,  with  tone  and  mien  at  their 
gentlest  and  sweetest.  "  He  is  clad  with  bristles, 
if  you  please,  but  the  longer  you  know  him  the 
more  clearly  you  recognize  that  his  savage  irrita- 
bility is  external  and  superficial." 

"  I  think  it  very  appropriate  to  say  that  he  is 
clad  with  bristles,"  retorted  Kindelon.  "  It  makes 
me  wish  that  I  had  reported  him  as  grunting  instead 


212       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

of  growling.  In  that  case  the  simile  would  be  per- 
fect." 

Mrs.  Dares  shook  her  head  remonstratingly. 
"  Don't  try  to  misrepresent  your  own  good  heart 
by  sarcasm,"  she  replied.  She  spoke  with  her 
unchangeable  gravity;  she  had  no  lightsome  mo- 
ments, and  the  perpetually  serious  views  which 
she  took  of  everything  made  you  sometimes  won- 
der how  and  why  it  was  that  she  managed  to  make 
her  smileless  repose  miss  the  austere  note  and 
sound  the  winsome  one. 

"  I  am  certain  of  not  losing  your  esteem,"  ex- 
claimed Kindelon,  with  all  his  most  characteristic 
warmth.  "  Your  own  heart  is  so  large  and  kind 
that  everybody  who  has  got  to  know  it  can  feel 
secure  in  drawing  recklessly  upon  its  charity." 

Mrs.  Dares  made  him  no  answer,  for  just  then  a 
gentleman  who  had  approached  claimed  her  atten- 
tion. And  Pauline,  now  feeling  that  she  and 
Kindelon  were  virtually  alone  together,  said  with 
abrupt  speed,  — 

"  You  told  me  that  this  Mr.  Barrowe  had  a  kind 
heart,  in  spite  of  his  gruff,  unreasonable  manners. 
You  admitted  as  much,  and  so,  remembering  how 
clever  his  writings  are,  I  decided  to  retain  him  on 
the  list.  But  please  tell  me  just  what  he  has  been 
saying." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       213 

"  Oh,  he  's  tempestuous  on  the  subject  of  your 
having  done  any  weeding  at  all.  He  thinks  it 
arrogant  and  patronizing  of  you.  He  thinks  that 
I  am  at  the  bottom  of  it;  he  always  delights  in 
blaming  me  for  something.  He  positively  revels, 
I  suppose,  in  his  present  opportunity." 

"  But  if  he  is  indignant  and  condemnatory," 
said  Pauline,  "why  does  he  not  remain  away?  He 
has  the  right  of  discountenancing  my  conduct  by 
his  absence." 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  him  !  He  never  neglects 
a  chance  for  being  turbulent.  I  heard  him  assert, 
just  now,  that  Miss  Cragge  had  received  a  most 
cruel  insult  from  you." 

"  Miss  Cragge  !  "  exclaimed  Pauline,  with  a  flash 
of  her  gray  eyes.  "  I  would  not  have  such  a  crea- 
ture as  that  in  my  drawing-rooms  for  a  very  great 
deal !  Upon  my  word,"  she  went  on,  with  a  sud- 
den laugh  that  had  considerable  cold  bitterness, 
"  this  irascible  personage  needs  a  piece  of  my  mind. 
I  don't  say  that  I  intend  giving  it  to  him,  for  I  am 
at  home,  and  the  requirements  of  the  hostess  mark 
imperative  limits.  But  I  have  ways  left  me  of 
showing  distinct  disfavor,  for  all  that.  Are  there 
any  other  acts  of  mine  which  Mr.  Barrowe  does 
me  the  honor  to  disapprove  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  hear  that  he  considers  you  have 


214       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

acted  most  unfairly  toward  the  triad  of  poets, 
Leander  Prawle,  Arthur  Trevor,  and  Rufus  Cor- 
son." 

Pauline  gave  a  smile  that  was  really  but  a  curl 
of  the  lip.  "  Indeed  !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  was 
rather  amused  by  Mr.  Prawle's  poetic  prophecy 
of  a  divine  future  race ;  it  may  be  bad  poetry,  as 
he  puts  it,  but  I  thought  it  rather  good  evolution. 
Then  the  Quartier  Latin  floridity  of  Mr.  Trevor 
amused  me  as  well :  I  have  always  liked  fervor  of 
expression  in  verse,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
that  Mr.  Trevor  has  always  written  ludicrous  ex- 
aggeration —  especially  since  he  reveres  TlnSophile 
Gautier,  who  is  an  enchanting  singer.  But  when 
it  comes  to  treating  with  that  morbid  poseur,  Mr. 
Corson,  who  affects  to  see  beauty  in  decay  and  cor- 
ruption, and  who  makes  a  silly  attempt  to  deify 
indecency,  I  draw  my  line,  and  shut  my  doors." 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  Kindelon.  "  No  doubt 
if  you  had  opened  them  to  Mr.  Corson,  Ban-owe 
would  have  been  scandalized  at  your  doing  so. 
As  it  is,  he  chooses  to  championize  Mr.  Corson 
and  Miss  Cragge.  He  is  a  natural  grumbler,  a 
constitutional  fighter.  By  the  way,  he  is  coming 
in  our  direction.  Do  you  see  him  approaching  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  him,"  said  Pauline  resolutely, 
"  and  I  am  quite  prepared  for  him." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       215 

Mr.  Barrowe  presented  himself  at  her  side  in 
another  minute  or  two.  His  tall  frame  accomplished 
a  very  awkward  bow,  while  his  little  eyes  twinkled 
above  his  beak-like  nose,  with  a  suggestion  of  re- 
strained belligerence. 

"  Your  entertainment  is  very  successful,  Mrs. 
Varick,"  he  began,  ignoring  Kindelon,  who  had 
already  receded  a  step  or  two. 

"  Have  you  found  it  so  ? "  returned  Pauline 
coolly.  "I  had  fancied  otherwise." 

Mr.  Barrowe  shrugged  his  frail  shoulders.  "  Your 
rooms  are  beautiful,"  he  said,  "  and  of  course  you 
must  know  that  I  like  the  assemblage ;  it  contains 
so  many  of  my  good  friends." 

"  I  hope  you  miss  nobody,"  said  Pauline,  after  a 
slight  pause. 

Mr.  Barrowe  gave  a  thin,  acid  cough.  "  Yes," 
he  declared,  "  I  miss  more  than  one.  I  miss  them, 
and  I  hear  that  you  have  not  invited  them.  I  am 
very  sorry  that  you  have  not.  It  is  going  to  cause 
ill-feeling.  Everybody  knows  that  you  took  Mrs. 
Dares's  list  —  my  dear,  worthy  friend's  list.  It  is 
too  bad,  Mrs.  Varick ;  I  assure  you  that  it  is  too 
bad." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  too  bad,"  said  Pauline 
freezingly,  with  the  edges  of  her  lips.  "  I  do  not 
think  that  it  is  bad  at  all.  I  have  invited  those 
whom  I  wished  to  invite." 


216       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  Precisely !  "  cried  Mr.  Barrowe,  with  a  shrill, 
snapping  sound  in  the  utterance  of  the  word. 
"  You  have  been  wrongly  advised,  however  — 
horribly  advised.  I  don't  pretend  to  state  who 
has  advised  you,  but  if  you  had  consulted  me  — 
well,  handicapped  as  I  am  by  a  hundred  other 
duties,  bored  to  death  as  I  am  by  people  applying 
for  all  sorts  of  favors,  I  would  nevertheless,  in  so 
good  a  cause,  have  willingly  spared  you  some  of 
my  valuable  time.  I  would  have  told  you  by  no 
means  to  exclude  so  excellent  a  person  as  poor, 
hard-working  Miss  Cragge.  To  slight  her  like 
that  was  a  very  unkind  cut.  You  must  excuse 
my  speaking  plainly." 

"  I  must  either  excuse  it  or  resent  it,"  said 
Pauline,  meeting  the  glitter  of  Mr.  Barrowe's 
small  eyes  with  the  very  calm  and  direct  gaze 
of  her  own.  "But  suppose  I  do  the  latter?  It 
has  usually  been  my  custom,  thus  far  through 
life,  to  resent  interference  of  any  sort." 

"  Interference ! "  echoed  Mr.  Barrowe,  with 
querulous  asperity.  "Ah,  madam,  I  think  I  re- 
cognize just  who  has  been  advising  you,  now; 
you  make  my  suspicion  a  certainty."  He  glanced 
irately  enough  toward  Kindelon  as  he  spoke  the 
last  words. 

Kindelon  took  a  step  or  two  forward,  reaching 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       217 

Pauline's  side  and  pausing  there.  His  manner,  as 
he  began  to  speak,  showed  no  anger,  but  rather 
that  blending  of  decision  and  carelessness  roused 
by  an  adversary  from  whom  we  have  slight  fear 
of  defeat. 

"Come,  Barrowe,"  he  said,  "if  you  mean  me 
you  had  better  state  so  plainly.  As  it  happens, 
Mrs.  Varick  was  advised,  in  the  matter  of  not 
sending  Miss  Cragge  an  invitation,  solely  by  her- 
self. But  if  she  had  asked  my  counsel  it  would 
entirely  have  agreed  with  her  present  course." 

"  No  doubt,"  almost  snarled  Mr.  Barrowe.  "  The 
ill  turn  comes  to  the  same  thing.  We  need  not 
split  hairs.  I  made  no  personal  reference  to  you, 
Kindelon ;  but  if  the  cap  fits  you  can  wear  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  hand  it  back  to  you  with  a 
bunch  of  bells  on  it,"  said  Kindelon. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  Irish  wit  ?  "  replied  Mr. 
Barrowe,  while  his  lips  grew  pale.  "If  so,  you 
should  save  it  for  the  columns  of  the  'Asteroid,' 
which  sadly  needs  a  little." 

"  The  '  Asteroid '  never  prints  personalities," 
returned  Kindelon,  with  nonchalant  mockery. 
"  It  leaves  that  kind  of  journalism  to  your  friend 
Miss  Cragge." 

"  Miss  Cragge,  sir,"  muttered  Barrowe,  "  is  a 
lady." 


218       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  I  did  not  say  she  was  a  gentleman,"  retorted 
Kindelon,  "though  her  general  deportment  has 
more  than  once  cast  a  doubt  upon  her  sex." 

Mr.  Barrowe  gave  a  faint  shiver.  "  I  'm  glad  I 
have  n't  it  on  my  conscience,"  he  declared,  "  that  I 
injured  an  honest  girl  to  gratify  a  mere  spite." 
He  at  once  turned  to  Pauline,  now.  "  Madam," 
he  pursued,  "  I  must  warn  you  that  your  project 
will  prove  a  dire  failure  if  you  attempt  to  develop 
it  on  a  system  of  despotic  preferences.  We  were 
all  glad  to  come  to  you,  in  a  liberal,  democratic, 
intellectual  spirit.  But  the  very  moment  you  un- 
dertake the  establishment  of  a  society  formed  on  a 
basis  of  capricious  likes  and  dislikes,  I  assure  you 
that  you  are  building  on  sand  and  that  your  struc- 
ture will  fall." 

"  In  that  case,  Mr.  Barrowe,"  said  Pauline, 
stung  by  his  unwarranted  officiousness  into  the 
employment  of  biting  irony,  "you  can  have  no 
excuse  if  you  allow  yourself  to  be  buried  in  my 
ruins." 

She  passed  rapidly  away,  while  Kindelon  ac- 
companied her.  "  You  were  quite  right,"  came 
his  speedy  encouragement,  as  they  moved  onward 
together.  "  You  showed  that  insufferable  egotist 
the  door  in  the  politest  and  firmest  manner  pos- 
sible." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       219 

"  I  was  in  my  own  house,  though,"  said  Pauline, 
with  ^an  intonation  that  betokened  the  dawn  of 
repentance.  "lie  was  very  exasperating,  truly, 
but  —  I  was  in  my  own  house,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  you  were,"  exclaimed  Kindelon, 
"and  he  treated  you  as  if  it  belonged  to  some- 
body else.  We  are  all  apt  to  assert  a  proprietary 
right  when  a  fellow-citizen  ventures  to  relieve  us 
of  our  purse,  and  I  think  a  similar  claim  holds 
good  with  regard  to  our  self-respect." 

Pauline  presently  came  to  a  standstill.  She 
looked  troubled,  and  her  gaze  remained  down- 
cast for  a  little  while.  But  soon  she  lifted  it 
and  met  Kindelon's  eyes  steadily  watching  her. 

"You  don't  think  I  was  unjustifiably  rude?" 
she  asked. 

"No  ;  indeed  I  do  not.  I  don't  think  you  were 
rude  at  all." 

She  was  silent  for  a  brief  interval.  Then  she 
said,  without  taking  her  eyes  in  the  least  from 
her  companion's  face, — 

"  Do  you  believe  that  most  women  would  have 
acted  the  same  ?  " 

"No,"  he  said,  with  a  quick,  slight  laugh,  "be- 
cause most  women  have  neither  your  brains  nor 
your  independence." 

"  And  you  like  both  in  a  woman  ?  " 


220       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  I  like  both  in  you,"  he  said,  lowering  his 
handsome  head  a  little  as  he  uttered  the  words. 

"  Do  3'ou  think  Cora  Dares  would  have  acted 
as  I  have  done  ?  "  Pauline  asked. 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture  ;  he  appeared  for 
a  moment  distressed  and  embarrassed. 

"You  and  Cora  Dares  are  —  are  not  the  same," 
he  said,  almost  stammeringly. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  very  well,"  answered  Paul- 
ine. "I  have  had  very  good  reason  to  know  that 
we  are  not  the  same.  We  are  extremely  different. 
By  the  way,  she  is  not  here  to-night." 

"Not  here?"  he  repeated  interrogatively,  but 
with  a  suggestion  of  drolly  helpless  duplicity. 

Pauline  raised  one  finger,  shaking  it  at  him  for 
an  instant  and  no  more.  The  gesture,  transient 
as  it  was,  seemed  to  convey  a  world  of  signifi- 
cance. No  doubt  Kindelon  tacitly  admitted  this, 
though  his  face  preserved  both  its  ordinary  color 
and  composure. 

"  You  are  well  aware  that  she  is  not  here," 
Pauline  said. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think  so." 

"  But  perhaps  you  may  be  mistaken.  Perhaps 
you  have  merely  fancied  that  I  have  noticed  Miss 
Cora's  non-appearance." 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       221 

"Perhaps,"  Pauline  repeated.  She  seemed  to 
be  saying  the  word  to  her  own  thoughts.  But 
suddenly  her  manner  became  far  less  absent. 
"  Mrs.  Dares  told  me  that  Miss  Cora  had  a  head- 
ache to-night,"  she  said,  with  brisk  activity.  "We 
can  all  have  headaches,  you  know,"  she  went  on, 
"  when  we  choose." 

Kindelon  nodded  slowly.  "  I  have  heard  that 
it  is  an  accommodating  malady,"  he  said,  in  tones 
that  were  singularly  lifeless  and  neutral. 

Pauline  put  forth  her  hand,  and  let  it  rest  on 
his  broad,  strong  arm  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Did  Miss  Cora  have  a  headache  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  threw  back  his  head,  and  shook  it  with 
a  sudden  sound  of  his  breath  which  resembled  a 
sigh  of  irritation,  and  yet  was  not  quite  that. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know ! "  he  cried 
softly. 

Just  then  Pauline  found  herself  confronted  by 
Mr.  Howe,  the  novelist.  His  stoop  was  very  ap- 
parent ;  it  seemed  even  more  consumptive  than 
usual ;  his  slim  hand  was  incessantly  touching  and 
retouching  his  blue  spectacles,  which  gleamed 
opaque  and  with  a  goblin  suggestion  from  the 
smooth-shaven,  scholarly  pallor  of  his  visage. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Varick,"  he  began,  "  but  I  — 
I  wish  to  speak  a  word  with  you." 


222       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

Pauline  smiled  and  assumed  an  affable  de- 
meanor. It  cost  her  an  effort  to  do  so,  for  cer- 
tain acute  reasons ;  but  she  nevertheless  achieved 
good  results. 

"  A  great  many  words,  Mr.  Howe,"  she  ans- 
wered, "  if  you  wish." 

Mr.  Howe  gave  a  sickly  smile.  "  Oh,  I  don't 
ask  a  great  man}',"  he  faltered ;  and  it  at  once 
became  evident  that  he  was  for  some  reason  ill  at 
ease,  disconsolate,  abysmall}7  depressed. 

"You  are  annoyed,"  said  Pauline,  chiefly  be- 
cause she  found  nothing  else,  as  a  would-be  cour- 
teous hostess,  to  say. 

"  Annoyed  ? "  came  the  hesitant  reply,  while 
Mr.  Howe  rearranged  his  blue  spectacles  with  a 
hand  that  seemed  to  assume  a  new  momentary 
decisiveness.  "  I  am  grieved,  Mrs.  Varick.  I  am 
grieved  because  a  friend  of  mine  has  received  a 
slight  from  you,  and  I  hope  that  it  is  an  uninten- 
tional slight.  I  —  I  want  to  ask  you  whether  it 
cannot  be  corrected.  I  allude  to  Mr.  Bedlowe." 

"  Mr.  Bedlowe  !  "  repeated  Pauline  amazedly. 
She  turned  to  Kindelon  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  came  Kindelon's  ready  answer;  "you 
remember  Bedlowe,  of  course." 

"  I  remember  Mr.  Bedlowe,"  said  Pauline, 
sedately. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       223 

"  Ah  !  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  him ! "  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Howe,  with  a  great  deal  of  gentle- 
manly distress.  He  had  discontinued  all  manual 
connection  with  his  blue  glasses ;  he  had  even 
pressed  both  hands  together,  in  a  rotatory,  nervous 
way,  while  he  went  on  speaking.  "  I  hope  you 
did  not  mean  to  leave  poor  Bedlowe  out,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, with  quite  a  funereal  pathos.  "  The  poor 
fellow  feels  it  dreadfully.  I  promised  him  I  would 
say  nothing  about  the  matter,  and  yet  (as  you  see) 
I  have  broken  my  promise." 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Varick  is  sorry  to  see  that  you 
have  broken  your  promise,"  said  Kindelon,  shortly 
and  tepidly. 

Mr.  Howe  glanced  at  Kindelon  through  his 
glasses.  He  was  obliged  to  raise  his  head  as  he 
did  so,  on  account  of  their  differing  statures. 

"  Kindelou !  "  he  cried,  in  reproach,  "  I  thought 
you  were  one  of  my  friends." 

"So  I  am,"  came  Kindelon's  reply,  "  and  that  is 
why  I  don't  like  the  pietistic  novelist,  Bedlowe, 
who  wrote  '  The  Christian  Knight  in  Armor ' 
and  the  '  Doubtful  Soul  Satisfied.'  " 

If  there  could  be  the  ghost  of  a  cough,  Mr. 
Howe  gave  it.  He  again  lifted  his  wan,  lank 
hand  toward  his  spectacles. 

"  Oh,  Kindelon,"  he  remonstrated,  "  you  must 


224       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

not  be  as  uncharitable  as  that.  Bedlowe  does  the 
best  he  can — and  really,  between  ourselves,  his 
best  is  remarkably  good.  Think  of  his  great 
popularity.  Think  of  the  way  he  appeals  to  the 
large  masses.  Think  " — 

But  here  Pauline  broke  in,  with  the  merriest 
laugh  that  had  left  her  lips  that  night. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Howe!"  she  exclaimed,  "you 
forget  that  I  heard  a  bitter  wrangle  between 
you  and  Mr.  Bedlowe  only  a  few  days  ago.  You 
had  a  great  many  hard  things  to  say  of  him  then. 
I  hope  you  have  not  so  easily  altered  your  con- 
victions." 

"I  —  I  have  n't  altered  my  convictions  at  all," 
stammered  Mr.  Howe,  quite  miserably.  "  But 
between  Bedlowe  as  a  literary  man,  and  —  and 
Bedlowe  as  a  social  companion  —  I  draw  a  very 
marked  line." 

Kindelon  here  put  his  big  hand  on  Mr.  Howe's 
slight  shoulder,  jovially  and  amicably,  while  he 
said,  — 

"  Come,  now,  my  dear  Howe,  you  mean  that 
the  analytical  and  agnostic  novelist  wants  the 
romantic  and  pietistic  novelist,  only  for  the  pur- 
pose of  breaking  a  lance  with  him.  You  want 
him  for  that  reason  and  no  other." 

Mr.  Howe  removed  his  spectacles,  and  while  he 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       225 

performed  this  act  it  was  evident  that  he  was  ex- 
tremely agitated.  The  removal  of  his  spectacles 
revealed  two  very  red-rimmed  eyes,  whose  color 
escaped  all  note  because  of  their  smallness. 

"I  —  I  want  Mr.  Bedlowe  for  no  such  reason," 
he  asserted.  "  But  I  —  1  do  not  want  to  attend  a 
—  so-called  salon  at  which  mere  fashionable  fancy 
takes  the  place  of  solid  hospitality." 

"You  forget,"  said  Pauline,  with  rapid  cool- 
ness, "  that  you  are  speaking  in  the  presence  of 
your  hostess." 

"  He  remembers  only,"  came  the  fleet  words  of 
Kindelon,  "that  he  speaks  at  the  prompting  of 
Barrowe." 

Pauline  tossed  her  head ;  she  was  angry  again. 
"I  don't  care  anything  about  Mr.  Barrowe,"  she 
asserted,  with  a  very  positive  glance  at  the  un- 
spectacled  Mr.  Howe.  "  I  should  prefer  to  believe 
that  Mr.  Howe  expresses  his  own  opinions.  Even 
if  they  are  very  rude  ones,  I  should  prefer  having 
them  original." 

"  They  are  original,"  said  Mr.  Howe  feebly,  but 
somehow  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  possesses 
a  reserve  of  strength  which  he  is  unable  to  readily 
command.  "  I  do  not  borrow  my  opinions.  I  — 
I  think  nearly  all  people  must  know  this." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Pauline  very  tranquilly,  and 


226       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

with  an  accent  suave  yet  sincere.  "  I  have  read 
your  novels,  Mr.  Howe,  and  I  have  liked  them 
very  much.  I  don't  say  that  this  is  the  reason 
why  I  have  asked  you  here  to-night,  and  I  don't 
say  that  my  dislike  of  Mr.  Bedlowe's  novels  is  the 
reason  why  I  have  not  asked  Mr.  Bedlowe  here 
to-night.  But  I  hope  you  will  let  my  admiration 
of  your  talent  cover  all  delinquencies,  and  permit 
me  to  be  the  judge  of  whom  I  shall  choose  and 
whom  I  shall  not  choose  for  my  guests." 

Mr.  Howe  put  on  his  spectacles.  While  he  was 
putting  them  on,  he  said  in  a  voice  that  had  a 
choked  and  also  mournfully  reproachful  sound,  — 

"I  have  no  social  gifts,  Mrs.  Varick.  I  can't 
measure  swords  with  you.  I  can  only  measure 
pens.  That  is  the  trouble  with  so  many  of  us 
writers.  We  can  only  write ;  we  can't  talk.  I  — 
I  think  it  grows  worse  with  us,  in  these  days 
when  one  has  to  write  with  the  most  careful 
selection  of  words,  so  as  to  escape  what  is  now 
called  commonplace  diction.  We  get  into  the 
habit  of  striving  after  novelty  of  expression — - 
we  have  to  use  our  '  Thesaurus,'  and  search  for 
synonyms  —  we  have  to  smoke  excessively  (a 
good  many  of  us)  in  order  to  keep  our  nerves  at 
the  proper  literary  pitch  —  we  have  to  take  stimu- 
lants (a  good  many  of  us  —  though  I  don't  under- 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       227 

stand  that,  for  I  never  touch  wine)  in  order  to 
drag  up  the  words  and  ideas  from  an  underlying 
stagnancy.  Frankly,  for  myself,  I  talk  quite  ill. 
But  I  don't  want  to  have  you  think  that  I  am 
talking  in  another  voice  than  my  own.  I  don't 
want,  in  spite  of  my  failure  as  a  man  of  words, 
that  you  should  suppose  "  — 

"  I  suppose  nothing,  Mr.  Howe,"  broke  in 
Pauline,  while  she  caught  the  speaker's  hand  in 
hers,  gloved  modishly  up  to  the  elbow  with  soft, 
tawny  kid.  "  I  insist  upon  supposing  nothing 
except  that  you  are  glad  to  come  here  and  will 
be  glad  to  come  again.  I  know  three  or  four  of 
your  novels  very  well,  and  I  know  them  so  well  that 
I  love  them,  and  have  read  them  twice  or  thrice, 
which  is  a  great  deal  to  say  of  a  novel,  as  even  you, 
a  novelist,  will  admit.  But  I  don't  like  Mr.  Bed- 
lowe's  novels  any  more  than  you  do ;  and  if  Mr. 
Barrowe  has  tried  to  set  you  on  fire  with  his  in- 
cendiary feelings,  I  shall  be  excessively  sorry. 
You  have  written  lovely  and  brilliant  things  ;  you 
know  the  human  soul,  and  you  have  shown  that 
you  know  it.  You  may  not  have  sold  seventy  thou- 
sand copies,  as  the  commercial  phrase  goes,  but  I 
don't  care  whether  you  have  sold  seventy  thousand 
or  only  a  plain  seventy ;  you  are  a  true  artist,  all  the 
same.  .  .  And  now  I  am  going  to  leave  you,  for 


228       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

my  other  guests  claim  me.  But  I  hope  you  will 
not  care  for  anything  severe  and  bitter  which  that 
dyspeptic  Mr.  Barrowe  may  say ;  for,  depend  upon 
it,  he  only  wins  your  adherence  because  he  is  a 
clever  man  on  paper,  and  not  because  he  is  even 
tolerable  in  the  stern  operations  of  real  life. 
Frankly,  between  ourselves,  I  am  sure  that  he 
makes  a  very  bad  husband,  though  he  is  always 
talking  of  being  handicapped  by  autograph-bores 
and  interviewers  who  keep  him  away  from  Mrs. 
Barrowe.  I  suspect  that  Mrs.  Barrowe  must  be 
a  very  unhappy  lady.  And  I  'in  sure,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  Mrs.  Howe  is  very  happy  —  for  I  know 
there  is  a  Mrs.  Howe,  or  you  could  n't  describe  the 
American  women  as  ably  as  you  do.  .  . "  Pauline 
passed  onward  as  she  ended  her  final  sentence. 
Kindelon,  still  at  her  side,  soon  said  to  her, — 

"What  a  clever  farewell  you  made:  you  have 
won  Howe.  You  flattered  him  very  adroitly.  It 's 
an  open  secret  that  his  wife  helps  him  in  those 
exquisite  novels  of  his.  She  is  his  one  type  of 
woman.  I  think  that  is  why  Howe  will  never  be 
great;  he  will  always  be  exquisite  instead.  He 
adores  his  wife,  who  hates  society  and  always  stays 
at  home.  If  Howe  had  once  committed  a  genuine 
fault  it  might  have  served  posterity  as  a  crystal- 
lized masterpiece." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       229 

Pauline  shook  her  head  with  negative  emphasis. 
"I  like  him  just  as  he  is,"  she  murmured.  She 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  added,  almost 
plaintively :  "  My  entertainment  looks  pleasant 
enough,  but  I  fear  that  it  is  all  a  disastrous  fail- 
ure." 

"A  failure?"  echoed  Kindelon,  with  no  sympathy 
in  the  interrogation. 

"  Yes,  everybody  is  grumbling.  I  distinctly  feel 
it.  It  is  not  only  that  Barrowe  has  infected  every- 
bod}r ;  it  is  that  everybody  has  a  latent  hostility 
towards  anything  like  harmonious  reunion." 

"  Is  n't  there  a  bit  of  pure  imagination  in  your 
verdict  ?  "  Kindelon  asked. 

"  Premonition,"  answered  Pauline,  "  if  you 
choose  to  call  it  by  that  name."  She  stood,  while 
she  thus  spoke,  under  an  effulgent  chandelier, 
whose  jets,  wrought  in  the  semblance  of  candles, 
dispersed  from  ornate  metallic  sconces  a  truly 
splendid  glow. 

"We  have  a  new  arrival,"  he  said.  He  was 
glancing  toward  a  near  doorway  while  he  spoke. 
Pauline's  eyes  had  followed  his  own. 

"  My  aunt !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  And  Sallie  — 
and  Courtlandt,  too!" 

"  Yes,  Courtlandt,  too  —  my  friend,  Courtlandt," 
said  Kindelon  oddly. 


230       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  I  told  Aunt  Cynthia  she  had  best  not  come," 
murmured  Pauline. 

"And  your  cousin,  Courtlandt?"  said  Kindelon. 
"  Did  you  tell  him  not  to  come?" 

"  I  am  sorry  that  they  came  —  I  somehow  can't 
help  but  be  sorry  !  "  exclaimed  Pauline,  while  she 
moved  towards  the  door  by  which  she  had  seen  her 
kindred  enter. 

"Sorry?  So  am  I,"  said  Kindelon.  He  spoke 
below  his  breath,  but  Pauline  heard  him. 


XI. 

T  AM  very  glad  to  see  you,"  Pauline  was  telling 
her  aunt,  a  little  later.  She  felt,  while  she 
spoke  them,  that  her  words  were  the  merest 
polite  falsehood.  "  I  did  not  suppose  you  would 
care  to  honor  me  this  evening  —  I  mean  all  three 
of  you,"  she  added,  with  a  rather  mechanical 
smile  in  the  direction  of  Miss  Sallie  and  Court- 
landt. 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  promptly  spoke.  She  was 
looking  about  her  through  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed 
glasses  while  she  did  so.  Her  portliness  was  not 
without  a  modish  majesty ;  folds  of  a  black,  close- 
clinging,  lace-like  fabric  fell  about  her  large  person 
with  much  grace  of  effect;  her  severe  nose  ap- 
peared to  describe  an  even  more  definite  arc  than 
usual. 

"  Sallie  and  I  had  nothing  for  to-night,"  said 
Mrs.  Poughkeepsie.  "  Lent  began  to-day,  you 
know,  and  there  wasn't  even  a  dinner  to  go  to." 

"I  am  pleased  to  afford  you  a  refuge  in  your 
social  distress,"  returned  Pauline.  It  flashed 

231 


232       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

through  her  mind  that  circumstance  was  draw- 
ing upon  her,  to-night,  for  a  good  deal  of  bitter 
feeling.  What  subtle  thunder  was  in  the  air, 
ready  to  sour  the  milk  of  human  kindness  to  its 
last  drop  ? 

"  My  dear,"  murmured  her  aunt,  temporarily 
discontinuing  her  stares,  and  speaking  more  in. 
reproach  than  conciliation,  "you  must  not  be  so 
very  quick  to  take  offence  when  none  is  intended." 

Pauline  gave  a  laugh  which  she  tried  to  make 
amiable.  "  It  pleases  me  to  think  that  no  offence 
was  intended,"  she  declared. 

"  Your  little  party  was  by  no  means  a  pis-aller 
with  me,  dear  Pauline,"  here  stated  Sallie,  "  what- 
ever it  may  have  been  in  mamma's  case.  I  really 
wanted  so  much,  don't  you  know,  to  see  these  — 
a  —  persons."  The  peculiar  pause  which  Sallie 
managed  to  make  before  she  pronounced  the  word 
"persons,"  and  the  gentle  yet  assertive  accent 
which  she  managed  to  place  upon  the  word  itself, 
were  both,  in  their  way,  beyond  description.  Not 
that  either  was  of  the  import  which  would  render 
description  requisite,  except  from  the  point  of 
view  which  considers  all  weightless  trifles  valu- 
able. 

Pauline  bit  her  lip.  She  had  long  ago  thought 
Sallie  disqualified  for  contest  by  her  native  silli- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       233 

ness.  The  girl  had  not  a  tithe  of  her  mother's 
brains ;.  she  possessed  all  the  servitude  of  an  echo 
arid  all  the  iraitativeness  of  a  reflection.  But  like 
most  weak  things  she  had  the  power  to  wound, 
though  her  little  sting  was  no  doubt  quite  unin- 
tentional at  present. 

Courtlandt  here  spoke.  He  was  perfectly  his 
ordinary  sober  self  as  he  said-,  — 

"  I  happened  to  drop  in  upon  Aunt  Cynthia  to- 
night, and  she  brought  me  here.  I  believe  that  I 
come  without  an  invitation.  Don't  I  ?  I  've  for- 
gotten." 

"  You  have  n't  forgotten,"  contradicted  Pauline, 
though  not  at  all  unpleasantly.  "  You  know  I 
did  n't  invite  you,  because  I  did  n't  think  you 
would  care  to  come.  You  gave  me  every  reason 
to  think  so." 

"  That  was  very  rude,"  commented  Sallie,  with 
a  rebuking  look  at  Courtlandt.  She  had  a  great 
idea  of  manners,  but  her  reverence  was  quite 
theoretical,  as  more  than  one  ineligible  and  un- 
desirable young  gentleman  knew,  when  she  had 
chosen  to  freeze  him  at  parties  with  the  blank,  in- 
different regard  of  a  sphinx.  "  It  is  so  odd,  really, 
Pauline,"  she  went  on,  with  her  supercilious 
drawl,  which  produced  a  more  irritating  effect 
upon  her  cousin  because  apparently  so  spontane- 


234       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

ous  and  unaffected  —  "  it  is  so  odd  to  meet  people 
whom  one  does  not  know.  I  have  always  been 
accustomed  to  go  to  places  where  I  knew  every- 
body, and  bowed,  and  had  them  come  up  and 
speak." 

Pauline  busied  herself  for  an  instant  in  smooth- 
ing the  creases  of  her  long  gloves  between  wrist 
and  elbow.  "  Don't  you  find  it  rather  pleasant, 
Sallie,"  she  said,  "  to  procure  an  occasional 
change  ? " 

"  It  ought  to  be  refreshing,"  struck  in  Court- 
landt,  neutrally. 

"  You  can  have  people  to  talk  to  you  this  even- 
ing, if  you  wish,"  pursued  Pauline,  while  a  cer- 
tain sense  that  she  was  being  persecuted  by  her 
relatives  waged  war  with  a  decorous  recognition 
of  who  and  where  she  was. 

Before  Sallie  could  answer,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie, 
who  had  ceased  her  determined  survey,  said  in  her 
naturally  high,  cool,  suave  tones,  — 

"  Oh,  of  course  we  want  you  to  present  some  of 
them  to  us,  Pauline,  dear.  We  came  for  that, 
Sallie  and  I.  We  want  to  see  what  has  made  you 
so  fond  of  them.  They  are  all  immensely  clever, 
of  course.  But  one  can  listen  and  be  instructed, 
if  one  does  not  talk.  Do  they  expect  you  to  talk, 
by  the  way  ?  Will  they  not  be  quite  willing  to  do 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       235 

all  the  talking  themselves  ?  I  have  heard  —  I 
don't  just  remember  when  or  how  —  that  they 
usually  are  willing." 

"  My  dear  Aunt  Cynthia,"  said  Pauline,  in  a 
low  but  not  wholly  composed  voice,  "you  speak  of 
my  guests  as  if  they  were  the  inmates  of  a  mena- 
gerie." 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  threw  back  her  head  a  very 
little.  The  motion  made  a  jewel  of  great  price 
and  fine  lustre  shoot  sparks  of  pale  fire  from  the 
black  lace  shrouding  her  ample  bosom.  She 
laughed  at  the  same  moment,  and  by  no  means 
ill-naturedly.  "  I  am  sure  they  would  n't  like  to 
have  you  suggest  anything  so  dreadful,"  she  said, 
"  you,  their  protectress  and  patroness." 

"I  am  neither,"  affirmed  Pauline  stoutly. 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  lifted  her  brow  in  surprise. 
She  almost  lifted  her  august  shoulders  as  well. 
"  Then  pray  what  are  you,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Their  hostess  —  and  their  equal,"  asserted 
Pauline.  She  spoke  with  momentary  serious- 
ness, but  immediately  afterward  she  chose  to  as- 
sume an  air  of  careless  raillery. 

"  Ah,  Aunt  Cynthia,"  she  went  on,  "  you  don't 
know  how  you  make  me  envy  you ! " 

"  Envy  me,  Pauline  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  have  settled  matters  so  abso- 


236 


lutely.  You  have  no  misgivings,  no  distrusts. 
You  are  so  magnificently  secure." 

"I  don't  understand,"  politely  faltered  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie.  She  looked  inquiringly  at  Court- 
landt. 

"It  is  metaphysics,"  Courtlandt  at  once  said. 
"They  are  a  branch  of  study  in  which  Pauline 
has  made  great  progress."  His  face  remained  so 
completely  placid  and  controlled  that  he  might 
have  been  giving  the  number  of  a  residence  or 
recording  the  last  quotation  in  stocks. 

Sallie  had  become  absorbed  in  staring  here  and 
there,  just  as  her  mother  had  been  a  brief  while 
ago  ;  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  was  at  a  little  distance 
from  her  niece;  Courtlandt  stood  close  at  Pau- 
line's side,  so  that  the  latter  could  ask  him,  in  an 
undertone  full  of  curt,  covert  imperiousness,  — 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  say  and  do  rude  things?" 

"  I  never  say  nor  do  rude  things  if  I  can  help 
it,"  he  answered,  with  a  leaden  stolidity  in  his 
own  undertone. 

"Why  did  they  come?"  continued  Pauline, 
lowering  her  voice  still  more. 

"  You  invited  them,  I  believe.  That  is,  at  least, 
my  impression." 

"  I  mentioned  the  affair.  I  never  imagined  they 
would  wish  to  come." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       237 

"  You  see  that  you  were  mistaken.  If  I  had 
been  you  I  would  n't  have  given  them  the  awful 
opportunity." 

"  What  awful  opportunity  ?  "  queried  Pauline, 
furtively  bristling. 

"  Of  coming,"  said  Courtlandt. 

"  My  dear  Pauline,"  here  broke  in  Mrs.  Pough- 
keepsie,  "  shall  you  not  present  anybody  to  us  ?  " 

"  Anyone  whom  you  please  to  meet,  Aunt,"  re- 
sponded Pauline. 

"  But,  my  dear,  we  please  to  meet  anyone.  We 
have  no  preferences.  How  can  we  have  ?  " 

"  This  is  torment,"  thought  poor  Pauline.  She 
glanced  toward  Courtlandt,  but  she  might  as  well 
have  appealed  to  one  of  her  chairs.  "  What  shall 
I  do  ? "  her  thoughts  sped  fleetly  on.  "  This 
woman  and  this  girl  would  shock  and  repel  whom- 
ever I  should  bring  to  them.  It  would  be  like 
introducing  the  North  Pole  and  the  South." 

But  her  face  revealed  no  sign  of  her  perplexity. 
She  quietly  put  her  hand  within  Courtlandt's  arm. 
"Come,  Court,"  she  said,  with  a  very  creditable 
counterfeit  of  gay  sociality,  "let  us  find  a  few 
devotees  for  Aunt  Cynthia  and  Sallie." 

"  We  shall  find  a  good  many,"  said  Courtlandt, 
as  they  moved  away.  "  Have  no  fear  of  that." 

"I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  we  shall  find 


238       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

any"  protested  Pauline,  both  with  dismay  and 
antagonism. 

"Pshaw,"  retorted  Courtlandt.  "Mention  the 
name.  It  will  work  like  magic." 

"  The  name  ?     What  name  ?  " 

"  Poughkeepsie.  Do  you  suppose  these  haphaz- 
ard Bohemians  would  n't  like  to  better  themselves 
if  they  could  ?  " 

Pauline  took  her  hand  from  his  arm,  though  he 
made  a  slight  muscular  movement  of  detention. 

"  They  are  not  haphazard  Bohemians,"  she  said. 
"You  know,  too,  that  they  are  not.  They  are 
mostly  people  of  intellect,  of  culture,  of  high  and 
large  views.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by 
saying  that  they  would  'like  to  better  themselves.' 
Where  have  they  ever  heard  of  Aunt  Cynthia? 
Her  name  would  be  simply  a  dead  letter  to 
them." 

Courtlandt  gave  a  low  laugh,  that  was  almost 
gruff,  and  was  certainly  harsh.  "  Where  have 
they  ever  heard  of  Aunt  Cynthia?"  he  repeated. 
"Why,  she  never  dines  out  that  the  society 
column  of  half-a-dozen  newspapers  does  not  re- 
cord it,  and  her  name  would  be  very  far  from 
a  dead  letter.  It  would  be  a  decidedly  living 
letter." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,"  insisted  Pauline, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       239 

exasperatedly.  "  These  people  have  no  aims  to 
know  the  so-called  higher  classes." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Courtlandt,  with  superb 
calm.  "Everybody  has  aims  to  know  the  so- 
called  higher  classes  —  if  he  or  she  possibly  can. 
Especially  '  she  ',"  he  added  in  his  colorless  mono- 
tone. 

Just  then  Pauline  found  herself  confronted 
by  Miss  Upton.  The  moon-like  face  of  this 
diminutive  lady  wore  a  flushed  eagerness  as  she 
began  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Varick,"  she  said,  "  I  've  a  great, 
great  favor  to  ask  of  you!  I  want  you  to  intro- 
duce me  to  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie." 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  Pauline,  feeling  as 
if  the  request  had  been  a  sort  of  jeer.  "You 
know  my  aunt  by  sight,  then,  Miss  Upton  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  known  her  for  some  time  by 
sight,  Mrs.  Varick.  Miss  Cragge  pointed  her  out 
to  me  one  night  at  Wallack's.  She  had  a  box, 
with  her  daughter  and  several  other  people.  One 
of  them  was  an  English  lord  —  or  so  Miss  Cragge 
said  .  .  .  But  excuse  my  mentioning  my  friend's 
name,  as  you  don't  like  her." 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  did  not  like  Miss 
Cragge  ?  "  asked  Pauline,  with  abrupt  crispness. 

"  Oh,   nobody,   nobody,"  hurried   Miss   Upton. 


240       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  But  you  have  n't  invited  her  here  to-night  — 
you  left  her  out,  you  know.  That  was  all.  And 
I  thought  ..." 

"  Are  you  a  friend  of  Miss  Cragge's  ?  "  asked 
Pauline. 

"  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  that  is,  I  know  her  quite  well. 
She  writes  dramatic  criticisms,  you  know,  and  she 
has  seen  me  in  amateur  theatricals.  She  's  kind 
enough  to  tell  me  that  she  does  n't  think  that  I 
have  a  tragic  soul  in  a  comic  body."  Here  Miss 
Upton  gave  a  formidably  resonant  laugh.  "  But 
I  'm  convinced  that  I  have,  and  so  I  've  never 
gone  on  the  stage.  But  if  I  could  get  a  few  of 
the  very  aristocratic  people,  Mrs.  Varick,  —  like 
yourself,  and  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  —  to 
hear  me  give  a  private  reading  or  two,  from 
'Romeo  and  Juliet'  or  'The  Hunchback'  or  'Par- 
thenia',  why,  I  should  be  prepared  to  receive  a 
new  opinion,  don't  you  understand,  with  regard  to 
my  abilities.  There  is  nothing  like  being  en- 
dorsed at  the  start  by  people  who  belong  to  the 
real  upper  circles  of  society." 

"  Of  course  there  is  n't,"  said  Courtlandt,  speak- 
ing too  low  for  Miss  Upton  to  catch  his  words, 
and  almost  in  the  ear  of  Pauline.  "Introduce 
me,"  he  went  swiftly  on.  "  I  will  save  you  the 
bore  of  further  introductions.  You  will  soon  see 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       241 

how  they  will  all  flock  about  the  great  nabob, 
though  she  may  be  ignorant  of  aesthetics,  phil- 
osophy, Emerson,  Herbert  Spencer,  Carlyle,  and 
anybody  you  please." 

Pauline  turned  and  looked  at  him.  There  was 
the  shadow  of  a  sparkle  in  the  familiar  brown 
eyes  —  the  eyes  that  she  never  regarded  closely 
without  being  reminded  of  her  girlhood,  even  of 
her  childhood  as  well. 

"  It  is  a  challenge  then  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

For  a  second  he  seemed  not  to  understand  her. 
Then  he  nodded  his  head.  "Yes  —  a  challenge," 
he  answered. 

She  gave  an  inward  sigh.  ...  A  little  later  she 
had  made  the  desired  introduction.  .  .  .  Presently, 
as  Miss  Upton  moved  away  on  Courtlandt's  arm 
in  the  direction  of  her  aunt  and  Sallie,  she  burst 
into  a  laugh,  of  whose  loudness  and  acerbity  she 
was  equally  unconscious. 

Martha  Dares,  appearing  at  her  side,  arrested 
the  laugh.  Pauline  grew  promptly  serious  as  she 
looked  into  Martha's  homely  face,  with  its  little 
black  eyes  beaming  above  the  fat  cheeks  and  the 
unclassic  nose,  but  not  beaming  by  any  means  so 
merrily  as  when  she  had  last  given  all  its  features 
her  full  heed. 

"  You  don't  laugh  a  bit  as  if  you  were  pleased," 


242       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

said  Martha,  in  her  short,  alert  way.  "  I  hope 
nothing  has  gone  wrong." 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  everything  were  going 
wrong,"  returned  Pauline,  with  a  momentary 
burst  of  frankness  which  she  at  once  regretted. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  said  Martha.  "  I  'm  aston- 
ished to  hear  you  tell  me  so." 

"  Forget  that  I  have  told  you  so,"  said  Pauline, 
throwing  a  little  delicate  repulsion  into  voice  and 
mien.  "•  By  the  way,  your  sister  is  not  here  to- 
night, Miss  Dares." 

Martha's  plump  figure  receded  a  step  or  two. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  in  the  tone  of  one  somewhat 
puzzled  for  a  reply.  "  I  came  with  my  mother." 

"  And  your  sister  had  a  headache." 

"  A  headache,"  repeated  Martha,  showing  what 
strongly  resembled  involuntary  surprise. 

"  Yes.     So  your  mother  told  me." 

"  Well,  it 's  true,"  said  Martha.  Pauline  was 
watching  her  more  closely  than  she  perhaps  de- 
tected. u  Cora's  been  working  very  hard,  of  late. 
She  works  altogether  too  hard.  I  often  tell  her 
so —  Here  comes  Mr.  Kindelon,"  Martha  pur- 
sued, very  abruptly  changing  the  subject,  while 
her  gaze  seemed  to  fix  itself  on  some  point  behind 
her  companion.  "•  He  wants  to  speak  with  you,  I 
suppose.  I  '11  move  along  —  you  see,  I  go  about 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       243 

just  as  I  choose.  What 's  the  use  of  my  waiting 
for  an  escort  ?  I  'm  not  accustomed  to  attentions 
from  the  other  sex,  so  I  just  behave  as  if  it  did  n't 
exist.  That 's  the  wisest  plan." 

"  But  you  surely  need  not  be  afraid  of  Mr.  Kin- 
delon,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Oh,  we  're  not  the  best  of  friends  just  now," 
returned  Martha.  .  .  .  She  had  passed  quite  fleetly 
away  in  another  instant.  And  while  Pauline  was 
wondering  at  the  oddity  of  her  departure,  Kinde- 
lon  presented  himself. 

"  You  and  Jlartha  Dares  are  not  good  friends?" 
she  quickly  asked.  She  did  not  stop  to  consider 
whether  or  no  her  curiosity  was  unwarrantable, 
but  she  felt  it  to  be  a  very  distinct  and  cogent 
curiosity. 

Kindelon  frowned.  "  I  don't  want  to  talk  of 
Martha  Dares,"  he  said,  "  and  I  hope  that  you  do 
not,  either.  She  is  a  very  unattractive  topic." 

"  Is  n't  that  a  rather  recent  discovery  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  —  Shall  we  speak  of  something  else  ? 
Your  aunt's  arrival,  for  instance.  I  see  that  she 
is  quite  surrounded." 

"  Surrounded  ? "  replied  Pauline  falteringly. 
Her  eyes  turned  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Pough- 
keepsie  and  Sallie. 

It  was  true.     Seven  or  eight  ladies  and  gentle- 


244        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

men  were  gathered  about  the  stately  lady  and  her 
daughter.  Both  appeared  to  be  holding  a  little 
separate  and  exclusive  reception  of  their  own. 

"  Courtlandt  was  right !  "  exclaimed  Pauline 
ruefully,  and  with  a  stab  of  mortification.  She 
turned  to  meet  the  inquiring  look  of  Kindelon. 
"  I  thought  Aunt  Cynthia  would  be  unpopular 
here,"  she  continued.  "  I  supposed  that  no  one 
in  my  rooms  to-night  would  care  to  seek  her 
acquaintance." 

"  This  is  a  grandee,"  said  Kindelon,  "  and  so  they 
are  glad  enough  to  know  her.  If  your  cousin, 
Mr.  Beekmau,  prophesied  anything  of  that  sort, 
he  was  indeed  perfectly  right." 

Pauline  shook  her  head  musingly.  "  Good 
heavens ! "  she  murmured,  "  are  there  any  people 
in  the  world  who  can  stand  tests?  I  begin  to 
think  not."  Her  speech  grew  more  animated,  her 
eyes  began  to  brighten  indignantly  and  with  an 
almost  tearful  light.  "  Here  am  I,"  she  went  on, 
"  determined  to  encourage  certain  individuals  in 
what  I  believed  was  their  contempt  of  social 
frivolity  and  the  void  delusion  which  has  been 
misnamed  position  and  birth.  With  a  sort  of  polite 
irony  Aunt  Cynthia  appears  and  shows  me  that 
I  am  egregiously  wrong  —  that  she  can  hold  her 
court  here  as  well  as  at  the  most  giddily  fashion- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       245 

able  assemblage  .  .  .  Look ;  my  cousin  has  just 
presented  Mr.  Whitcomb,  the  '  coming  historian  ' 
with  the  pensive  face,  and  Mr.  Paiseley,  the  great 
American  dramatist  with  the  abnormal  head. 
How  pleased  they  both  seem !  They  appear  to 
tingle  with  deference.  Aunt  Cynthia  is  patron- 
izing them,  I  am  sure,  as  she  now  addresses  them. 
She  thinks  them  entirely  her  inferiors;  she  con- 
siders them  out  of  her  world,  which  is  the  correct 
world  to  be  in,  and  there  's  an  end  of  it.  You  can 
lay  the  Atlantic  cable,  you  can  build  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  but  you  can't  budge  the  granitic  preju- 
dices of  Aunt  Cynthia  .  .  .  Yet  why  do  they  con- 
sent to  be  patronized  by  her?  Do  they  not  know 
and  feel  that  she  represents  a  mere  sham?  Do 
they  value  her  for  what  she  is,  or  misvalue  her 
for  something  that  she  is  not?" 

Kindelon  laughed  a  little  gravely  as  he  an- 
swered :  "  I  am  afraid  they  do  the  former.  And 
in  being  what  she  is,  she  is  a  great  deal." 

"  Surely  not  in  the  estimate  of  those  who  are  at 
all  serious  on  the  subject  of  living  —  those  whom 
superficialities  in  all  conduct  or  thought  weary 
and  even  disgust." 

"  But  these,"  said  Kindelon,  with  one  of  his 
band-sweeps,  "  are  not  that  sort  of  people." 

"  I  supposed  a  great  many  of  them  were." 


246        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  You  supposed  wrongly." 

Pauline  gave  a  momentary  frown,  whose  gloom 
meant  pain.  And  before  her  face  had  re-bright- 
ened she  had  begun  to  speak.  "  But  they  cannot 
care  to  do  as  Aunt  Cynthia  does  —  to  trifle,  to 
idle." 

"  I  fancy  that  a  good  many  of  them  would  trifle 
and  idle  if  they  had  your  -aunt's  facilities  for  that 
employment  —  or  lack  of  it." 

"But  they  paint,  they  read,  they  write,  they 
think;  they  make  poems,  novels,  dramas.  They 
are  people  with  an  occupation,  an  ideal.  How 
can  they  be  interested  in  a  fellow-creature  who 
does  nothing  with  her  time  except  waste  it  ?  " 

"  She  wastes  it  very  picturesquely,"  replied  Kin- 
delon.  "  She  is  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie ;  she  repre- 
sents great  prosperity,  aristocratic  ease,  lofty 
security  above  need.  They  read  about  her;  they 
should  not  do  so,  but  that  they  do  is  more  the 
fault  of  modern  journalism  than  theirs.  Theoreti- 
cally they  may  consider  that  she  deserves  their 
hardest  feelings ;  but  this  has  no  concern  whatever 
with  their  curiosit}%  their  interest,  their  hope  of 
advancement." 

u  Their  hope  of  advancement !  "  echoed  Pauline, 
forlornly,  almost  aghast.  u  What  possible  hope  of 
advancement  could  they  have  from  such  a  source?" 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       247 

Her  querulous  question  had  scarcely  ended 
when  she  perceived  that  Arthur  Trevor  had  pre- 
sented himself  at  her  side.  The  young  poet  was 
exceedingly  smart  to-night.  His  tawny  hair  was 
rolled  off  his  wide  brow  with  a  sort  of  precise 
negligence ;  it  looked  as  if  a  deliberative  brush 
and  not  a  careless  hand  had  so  rolled  it.  He  fixed 
his  dreamy  blue  eyes  with  steadfastness  upon  Paul- 
ine's face  before  speaking. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Mrs.  Varick,"  he  began,  giving 
a  distinct  sigh  and  slowly  shaking  his  head  from 
side  to  side.  "  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  I  am 
sorry  about." 

'•  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Pauline,  with  a  nervous 
trill  of  laughter.  "  You  have  come  to  me  with  a 
complaint  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Rufus  Corson. 
You  see,  Mr.  Trevor,  rumor  has  forestalled  you. 
I  heard  that  you  were  furious  because  I  omitted  to 
ask  your  intimate  enemy." 

Arthur  Trevor  gave  an  exaggerated  start ;  it 
was  a  very  French  start ;  he  lifted  his  blond  eye- 
brows as  much  as  his  shoulders.  And  he  looked 
at  Kiridelon  while  he  responded : 

"  Ah  !  I  see  !  Kindelon  has  been  telling  you 
horrid  things.  Kindelon  hates  us  poets.  These 
men  of  the  newspapers  always  do.  But  there  is  a 
wide  gulf  between  the  poetry  of  to-day  and  the 
newspapers  of  to-day." 


248        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  quickly  struck  in  Kindelon. 
"  That  is  why  the  modern  newspaper  is  read  so 
much  and  the  modern  poetry  so  little." 

Arthur  Trevor  chose  to  ignore  this  barbed  re- 
joinder. His  dreamy  eyes  and  general  air  of  placid 
reverie  made  such  an  attitude  singularly  easy  of 
assumption. 

"  Poor  Rufus  feels  your  slight,"  he  said,  address- 
ing Pauline  solely.  "  Why  do  you  call  him  my 
intimate  enemy?  We  are  the  dearest  of  friends. 
He  adores  decay,  and  sings  of  it.  I  do  not  sing 
of  it,  but  I  adore  it  for  its  color.  There  is  always 
color  in  decay." 

"  Discolor,"  said  Kindelon,  with  better  wit  than 
grammar. 

"  Decay,"  pursued  Arthur  Trevor,  "  is  the  un- 
tried realm  of  the  future  poet.  Scarcely  anj'thing 
else  is  left  him.  He  is  driven  to  find  a  beauty  in 
ugliness,  and  there  is  an  immense  beauty  in  ugli- 
ness, if  one  can  only  perceive  it.  The  province  of 
the  future  poet  shall  be  to  make  one  perceive  it." 

"  That  is  like  saying,"  declared  Kindelou,  "  that 
the  province  of  the  future  gentleman  shall  be  to 
make  one  perceive  the  courtesy  in  discourtesy  or 
the  refinement  in  vulgarity." 

Again  Mr.  Trevor  ignored  Kindelon.  "  Poor 
Rufus  was  so  much  less  to  blame  than  Leander 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       249 

Prawle,"  he  continued.  "  And  yet  you  invited 
Leander  Prawle.  Prawle  is  so  absurdly  optimis- 
tic. Prawle  has  absolutely  no  color.  Prawle  is 
irretrievably  statuesque  and  sculpturesque.  It  is 
so  nonsensical  to  be  that  in  poetry.  Sculpture  is 
the  only  art  that  gives  an  imperious  rien  ne  va  plus 
to  the  imagination.  Prawle  should  have  been  a 
sculptor.  He  would  have  made  a  very  bad  one, 
because  his  ideas  are  too  cold  even  for  marble. 
But  his  poetry  would  not  have  been  such  an  icy 
failure  if  it  had  been  carved  instead  of  written." 

"  You  need  not  put  up  with  this  kind  of  thing 
any  longer  than  you  want,"  whispered  Kinclelon 
to  Pauline.  "  Hostship,  like  Mr.  Prawle's  poetry, 
remember,  has  its  limitations." 

Pauline  pretended  not  to  hear  this  audacious 
aside.  "  Mr.  Trevor,"  she  said,  making  her  voice 
very  even  and  collected,  "  I  regret  that  I  could  not 
quite  bring  myself  to  ask  your  friend.  The  Egyp- 
tians, you  recollect,  used  to  have  a  death's-head  at 
their  banquets.  But  that  was  a  good  many  years 
ago,  and  New  York  isn't  Thebes  .  .  .  Please  par- 
don me  if  I  tell  you  that  I  must  leave  you  for  a 
little  while." 

As  Pauline  was  passing  him,  Trevor  lifted  his 
eyes  toward  the  ceiling.  He  did  so  without  a  hint 
of  rhapsody,  but  in  a  sort  of  solemn  exaltation. 


250        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  New  York  is  surely  not  Thebes  ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Ah,  if  it  only  were !  To  have  lived  in  Thebes 
for  one  day,  to  have  got  its  real  and  actual  color, 
would  be  worth  ten  years  of  dull  existence  here  !  " 

"  How  I  wish  fate  had  treated  him  more  to  his 
taste ! "  said  Kindelon,  when  Pauline  and  himself 
were  a  little  distance  off.  "  He  meant  to  make  an 
appeal  for  that  mortuary  Corson.  He  might  bet- 
ter have  tried  to  perpetuate  his  own  welcome  at 
your  next  salon" 

"  My  next  salon  !  "  echoed  Pauline,  with  a  laugh 
full  of  fatigue  and  derision. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked  shortly. 

"  I  mean  that  I  had  best  give  no  other  salon" 
she  replied.  "  I  mean  that  this  is  a  failure  and 
a  mockery." 

She  looked  full  up  into  his  eyes  as  she  spoke. 
They  both  paused.  "  So  soon  ?  "  questioned  Kin- 
delon, as  if  in  soft  amazement. 

"Yes  —  so  soon,"  she  answered,  with  a  quiver 
in  her  voice  and  a  slight  upward  movement  of 
both  hands.  "  What  is  it  all  amounting  to  ?  " 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  confirm  your  prophecy  ?  "  she  broke  forth, 
somewhat  excitedly.  "I  know  you  warned  me 
against  disappointment.  Enjoy  your  satisfaction  — 
Look  at  Aunt  Cynthia  now.  She  is  holding  a  per- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       251 

feet  court.  How  they  do  flock  round  Sallie  and 
herself,  just  as  Courtlandt  said  that  they  would ! 
I  feel  that  this  is  the  beginning  and  the  end.  I 
have  misjudged,  miscalculated,  misinterpreted. 
And  I  am  miserably  dejected ! " 

Just  then  Martha  Dares  approached  Pauline. 
"  Will  you  please  introduce  me  to  your  aunt  ? " 
said  Martha. 

•  "  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  Miss  Dares,"  re- 
turned Pauline. 

"  Et  tu  Brute  ?  "  said  Kindelon,  under  his  breath. 
Pauline  heard  him,  but  Martha  did  not.  .  .  . 

A  little  later  Courtlandt  had  joined  her,  and 
Kindelon  had  glided  away. 

"  Are  you  convinced  ?  "  said  Courtlandt. 

"Convinced  of  what?"  she  retorted,  with  an 
almost  fierce  defiance. 

"  Oh,  of  nothing,  since  you  take  it  so  fero- 
ciously." She  saw  that  his  calm  brown  eyes 
were  coolly  watching  her  face. 

"  When  is  your  next  salon  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  it 
to  be  a  week  from  to-night?  " 

"  It  is  never  to  be  again,"  she  answered. 

She  meant  the  words,  precisely  as  she  spoke 
them.  She  longed  for  the  entertainment  to  end, 
and  when  it  had  ended  she  felt  relieved,  as  if  from 
a  painful  tension  and  strain.  Musing  a  little  later 


252       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

in  her  bed-chamber,  before  retiring,  she  began  to 
feel  a  slight  change  of  mood.  Had  she  not,  after 
all,  expected,  demanded,  exacted,  too  much  ?  Was 
she  justified  in  giving  way  to  this  depression  and 
disappointment?  Was  she  not  more  blamable  in 
deceiving  herself  than  these  people  were  in  sur- 
prising her  ?  She  had  been  warned  by  Kindelon ; 
she  had,  in  a  certain  way,  been  warned  by  Mrs. 
Dares.  But  these  were  not  her  desired  band  of 
plain  livers  and  high  thinkers.  They  were  very 
far  below  any  such  elevated  standard.  They  had 
seemed  to  make  a  sort  of  selfish  rush  into  her 
drawing-rooms  for  the  purpose  of  getting  there, 
and  afterward  boasting  that  they  had  got  there. 
She  was  by  no  means  sure  if  the  very  quality  and 
liberality  of  her  refreshments  had  not  made  for 
them  the  prospect  of  another  Thursday  evening 
offer  increased  allurements.  Many  of  them  were 
full  of  the  most  distressing  trivialities.  The  con- 
duct of  Mr.  Barrowe  had  seemed  to  her  atrociously 
unpleasant.  His  action  with  regard  to  the  ex- 
cluded Miss  Cragge  struck  her  as  a  superlative 
bit  of  impudence.  If  she  went  on  giving  more 
receptions  she  would  doubtless  only  accumulate 
more  annoyances  of  a  similar  sort. 

No;    the  intellectual  life  of  the  country  was 
young,  like  the  country  itself.     It  was  not  only 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       253 

young;  it  was  raw  and  crude.  To  continue  in 
her  task  would  be  to  fail  hopelessly.  She  had 
best  not  continue  in  it.  She  might  be  wrong  in 
abandoning  it  so  soon ;  there  might  be  hope  yet. 
But,  after  all,  she  was  undertaking  no  holy  cru- 
sade ;  conscience  made  no  demands  upon  her  for 
the  perpetuation  and  triumph  of  her  project.  Let 
it  pass  into  the  limbo  of  abortive  efforts.  Let  it 
go  to  make  another  stone  in  that  infernal  pathway 
proverbially  paved  by  good  intentions.  .  .  . 

She  slept  ill  that  night,  and  breakfasted  later 
than  usual.  And  she  had  scarcely  finished  break- 
fasting when  a  card  was  handed  her,  which  it 
heightened  her  color  a  little  to  peruse. 

The  card  bore  Miss  Cragge's  name,  and  one 
portion  of  its  rather  imposing  square  was  filled 
with  the  names  of  many  Eastern  and  Western 
journals  besides,  of  which  the  owner  evidently 
desired  to  record  that  she  was  a  special  correspon- 
dent. It  seemed  to  Pauline,  while  she  gazed  at 
the  scrap  of  pasteboard,  that  this  was  exactly  the 
sort  of  card  which  a  person  like  Miss  Cragge 
would  be  apt  to  use  for  presentation.  She  was  at 
a  loss  to  understand  why  Miss  Cragge  could  have 
visited  her  at  all,  and  perhaps  the  acquiescing 
answer  which  she  presently  gave  her  servant  was 
given  because  curiosity  surpassed  and  conquered 
repulsion. 


254        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

But  after  the  servant  had  departed,  Pauline 
regretted  that  she  had  agreed  to  see  Miss  Cragge. 
"What  can  the  woman  want  of  me?"  she  now 
reflected,  "  except  to  abuse  and  possibly  insult 
me?" 

Still,  the  word  had  been  sent.  She  must  hold 
to  it. 

Pauline  gave  Miss  Cragge  a  cool  yet  perfectly 
courteous  bow,  as  they  met  a  little  later. 

"  You  are  Miss  Cragge,  I  believe,"  she  said,  very 
quietly  and  amiably. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  suppose  you  'd  forgotten  me  so 
soon  !  "  came  the  reproachful  and  rather  unsteady 
answer.  Miss  Cragge  had  risen  some  time  before 
Pauline  entered  the  room,  and  her  gaunt  shape, 
clad  in  scant  gear,  looked  notably  awkward.  Her 
street  costume  was  untidy,  shabby,  and  even  be- 
draggled. She  held  a  bundle  of  newspapers,  which 
she  shifted  nervously  from  hand  to  hand. 

"  You  wish  to  speak  with  me,  then  ? "  said 
Pauline,  still  courteously. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Miss  Cragge.  It  was  evident 
that  she  underwent  a  certain  distinct  agitation. 
"  I  have  called  upon  you,  Mrs.  Varick,  because  I 
felt  that  I  ought  to  do  so." 

"  It  is,  then,  a  matter  of  duty,  Miss  Cragge  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  a  matter  of  duty.     A  matter  of  duty 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       255 

toward  myself.  Toward  myself  as  a  woman,  you 
know  —  I  think  that  I  have  been  wronged  — 
greatly  wronged." 

"Not  wronged  by  me,  I  hope." 

"  Through  you,  by  someone  else." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"I  —  I  shall  try  to  make  myself  plain." 

"  I  trust  you  will  succeed." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  succeed,"  declared  Miss  Cragge, 
gasping  a  little  for  breath  as  she  now  continued. 
"  I  have  an  enemy,  Mrs.  Varick,  and  that  enemy 
is  your  friend.  Yes,  I  mean  Mr.  Kindelon,  of 
course.  He  has  set  you  against  me.  He  has  made 
you  shut  your  doors  upon  me.  Oh,  you  need  not 
deny  that  this  is  true.  I  am  perfectly  certain  of 
its  truth.  I  am  always  received  by  Hagar  Wil- 
liamson Dares.  She  is  a  noble,  true  woman,  and 
she  lets  me  come  to  her  house  because  she  knows 
I  have  my  battle  to  fight,  just  as  she  has  always 
had  her  own,  and  that  I  deserve  her  sympathy  and 
her  friendship.  I  don't  maintain  that  I  've  been 
always  blameless.  A  newspaper  woman  can't 
always  be  that.  She  gives  wounds,  just  as  she 
gets  wounds.  But  I  never  did  Ralph  Kindelon 
any  harm  in  my  life.  He  hates  me,  but  he  has  no 
business  to  hate  me.  I  never  cared  much  about 
his  hatred  till  now.  But  now  he  has  shown 


256        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

me  that  he  is  an  active  and  dangerous  enemy. 
I  mean,  of  course,  about  this  affair  of  yours.  I 
wanted  to  be  invited  to  your  house  last  evening ; 
I  expected  to  be  invited.  I  was  on  the  Dareses' 
list.  I  'm  going  to  be  perfectly  candid.  It  would 
have  been  a  feather  in  my  cap  to  have  come  here. 
I  know  exactly  what  your  position  in  society  is, 
and  I  appreciate  the  value  of  your  acquaintance. 
If  you  had  snubbed  me  of  your  own  accord,  I 
would  have  pocketed  the  snub  without  a  murmur. 
I  'in  used  to  snubbings  ;  I  have  to  be,  for  I  get  a 
good  many.  Nobody  can  go  abroad  picking  up 
society-items  as  I  do,  and  not  receive  the  cold 
shoulder.  But  in  this  case  it  was  no  spontaneous 
rebuff  on  your  part;  it  was  the  malicious  inter- 
ference of  a  third  party ;  it  was  Kindelon's  mean- 
spirited  persuasion  used  against  me  behind  my 
back.  And  it  has  been  an  injury  to  me.  It 's 
going  to  hurt  me  more  than  you  think.  It  has 
been  found  out  and  talked  over  that  I  was  dropped 
by  you  .  .  .  Now,  I  don't  want  to  be  dropped.  I 
want  to  claim  my  rights  —  to  ask  if  you  will  not 
do  me  justice  —  if  you  will  not  waive  any  personal 
concern  with  a  private  quarrel  and  allow  me  to 
have  the  same  chance  that  you  have  given  so 
many  others.  To  put  it  plainly  and  frankly,  Mrs. 
Varick,  I  have  come  here  this  morning  for  the 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       257 

purpose  of  asking  you  if  you  will  uot  give  me  an 
invitation  to  your  next  entertainment." 

All  the  time  she  had  thus  spoken,  Miss  Cragge 
had  remained  standing.  Pauline,  who  also  stood, 
had  shown  no  desire  that  her  visitor  should  sit. 
She  was  biting  her  lip  as  Miss  Cragge  ended,  and 
her  tones  were  full  of  a  haughty  repulsion  as  she 
now  said,  — 

"  Really,  I  am  unprepared  to  give  you  any  an- 
swer whatever.  But  you  seem  to  demand  an 
answer,  and  therefore  I  shall  give  you  one.  You 
are  very  straightforward  with  me,  and  so  I  do  not 
see  why  I  should  not  be  equally  straightforward 
with  you." 

Miss  Cragge  gave  a  bitter,  crisp  little  laugh. 
"I  see  what  is  coming,"  she  said.  "You  think 
me  abominable,  and  you  are  going  to  tell  me 
so." 

"I  should  not  tell  you  if  I  thought  it,"  replied 
Pauline.  "  But  I  must  tell  you  that  I  think  you 
unwarrantably  bold." 

"  And  you  refuse  me  any  other  explanation  ?  " 
now  almost  panted  Miss  Cragge.  "  You  will  not 
give  me  even  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  why  you 
have  dropped  me  ?  " 

Pauline  shook  her  head.  "I  do  not  recognize 
your  right  to  question  me  on  that  point,"  she  re- 


258        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

turned.  "  You  assume  to  know  my  reason  for  not 
having  asked  you  here.  I  object  to  the  form  and 
the  quality  of  your  question.  I  deny  that  I  have 
dropped  you,  as  you  choose  to  term  it.  I  think 
your  present  course  a  presumptuous  one,  and  I 
am  ignorant  of  having  violated  any  rights  of 
your  own  by  not  having  sent  you  a  card  to  my 
reception.  There  are  a  great  many  other  people 
in  New  York  besides  yourself  to  whom  I  did  not 
send  a  card.  Any  quarrel  between  you  and  Mr. 
Kindelon  is  a  matter  of  no  concern  to  me.  And 
as  for  my  having  dealt  you  an  injury,  that  asser- 
tion is  quite  preposterous.  I  do  not  for  an  instant 
admit  it,  and  since  your  attitude  toward  me  is 
painfully  unpleasant,  I  beg  that  this  conversation 
may  be  terminated  at  once." 

"  Oh,  you  show  me  the  door,  do  you  ? "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Cragge.  She  looked  very  angry  as 
she  now  spoke,  and  her  anger  was  almost  repul- 
sively unbecoming.  Her  next  words  had  the 
effect  of  a  harsh  snarl.  "  I  might  have  expected 
just  this  sort  of  treatment,"  she  proceeded,  with 
both  her  dingy-gloved  hands  manipulating  the 
bundle  of  newspapers  at  still  brisker  speed.  "  But 
I  'm  a  very  good  hater,  Mrs.  Varick,  and  I  'm  not 
stamped  on  quite  so  easily  as  you  may  suppose.  I 
usually  die  pretty  hard  in  such  cases,  and  perhaps 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       259 

you  '11  find  that  your  outrageous  behavior  will  get 
the  punishment  it  merits.  Oh,  you  needn't  throw 
back  your  proud  head  like  that,  as  if  I  were  the 
dirt  under  your  feet !  I  guess  you  '11  be  sorry 
before  very  long.  I  intend  to  make  you  so  if  I 
can  ! " 

Pauline  felt  herself  turn  pale.  "  You  are  inso- 
lent," she  said,  "  and  I  desire  you  to  leave  my 
house  immediately." 

Miss  Cragge  walked  to  the  door,  but  paused  as 
she  reached  its  threshold,  looking  back  across  one 
of  her  square  shoulders  with  a  most  malevolent 
scowl. 

"  You  've  got  no  more  heart  than  a  block  of 
wood,"  she  broke  forth.  "  You  never  had  any.  I 
know  all  about  you.  You  married  an  old  man  for 
his  money  a  few  years  ago.  He  was  old  enough 
to  be  your  grandfather,  and  a  wretched  libertine 
at  that.  You  knew  it,  too,  when  you  married 
him.  So  now  that  you've  got  his  money  you 're 
going  to  play  the  literary  patron  with  it.  And 
like  the  cold-blooded  coquette  that  you  are,  you  've 
made  Ralph  Kindelon  leave  poor  Cora  Dares, 
who  's  madly  in  love  with  him,  and  dance  atten- 
dance on  yourself.  I  suppose  you  think  Kindelon 
really  cares  for  you.  Well,  you  're  mightily  mis- 
taken if  you  do  think  so,  and  if  he  ever  marries 


260       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

you  I  guess  it  won't  be  long  before  he  makes  you 
find  it  out !  " 

Miss  Cragge  disappeared  after  the  delivery  of 
this  tirade,  and  as  she  closed  the  outer  hall-door 
with  a  loud  slain  Pauline  had  sank  into  a  chair. 
She  sat  thus  for  a  longer  time  than  she  knew,  with 
hands  knotted  in  her  lap,  and  with  breast  and  lips 
quivering. 

The  vulgarity,  the  brutality  of  those  parting 
words  had  literally  stunned  her.  It  is  no  exag- 
geration to  state  that  Miss  Cragge's  reference  to 
her  marriage  had  inflicted  a  positive  agony  of 
shame.  But  the  allusion  to  Cora  Dares' s  love  for 
Kindelon,  and  to  Kindelon's  merely  mercenary 
regard  for  herself,  had  also  stabbed  with  depth  and 
suffering.  Was  it  then  true  that  this  man's  feel- 
ings toward  her  were  only  the  hypocritical  sham 
of  an  aim  at  worldly  advancement  ?  "  How  shall 
I  act  to  him  when  we  again  meet  ?  "  Pauline  asked 
herself.  "If  I  really  thought  this  charge  true,  I 
should  treat  him  with  entire  contempt.  And  have 
I  the  right  to  believe  it  true  ?  This  Cragge  crea- 
ture has  a  viperish  nature.  Should  I  credit  such 
information  from  such  a  source  ?  " 

That  was  a  day  of  days  with  poor  Pauline. 
She  seemed  to  look  upon  Ralph  Kindelon  in  a 
totally  new  light.  She  realized  that  the  man's 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       261 

brilliant  personality  had  made  his  society  very 
dear  to  her.  She  told  herself  that  she  cared  for 
him  as  she  had  cared  for  none  other  in  her  life. 
But  the  thought  that  personal  ambition  was  solely 
at  the  root  of  his  devotion  affected  her  with  some- 
thing not  far  from  horror. 

By  degrees  the  memory  of  Miss  Cragge's  final 
outburst  stung  her  less  and  less.  The  whole 
speech  had  been  so  despicable,  the  intention  to 
wantonly  insult  had  been  so  evident.  After  a 
few  hours  had  passed,  Pauline  found  that  she  had 
regained  nearly  all  her  customary  composure.  She 
felt  that  if  Kindelon  should  come  that  evening 
she  could  discuss  with  him  calmly  and  ration- 
ally the  almost  hideous  occurrence  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

He  did  come,  and  she  told  him  a  great  deal,  but 
she  did  not  tell  him  all.  No  mention  of  Cora 
Dares  left  her  lips,  nor  of  the  acrid  slur  at  his  own 
relations  toward  herself.  He  listened  to  the  reci- 
tal with  a  face  that  wrath  paled,  while  it  lit  a 
keener  spark  in  his  eyes.  But  he  at  length  an- 
swered in  tones  thoroughly  controlled,  if  a  little 
husky  and  roughened : 

"  I  can  scarcely  express  to  you  my  disgust  for 
that  woman's  conduct.  I  did  not  think  her  capa- 
ble of  it.  She  represents  one  of  the  most  baleful 


262       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

forces  of  modern  times  —  the  nearly  unbridled 
license  of  the  newspaper.  She  has  dipped  her 
pen  for  years  into  poisonous  ink;  she  is  one  of 
our  American  monstrosities  and  abominations. 
Her  threat  of  punishment  to  you  would  be  ridicu- 
lous if  it  were  not  so  serious." 

"You  think  that  she  will  carry  it  out'/"  asked 
Pauline. 

"  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  did  so.'' 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  may  write  some  slander- 
ous article  about  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  possible." 

Pauline  gave  a  plaintive  sigh.  "  Oh,  have  I  no 
means  of  preventing  her?"  she  exclaimed. 

Kindelon  shook  his  head  negatively.  "  She  at- 
tacks from  an  ambuscade,  nearly  always,"  he  an- 
swered. "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  spiking  her 
guns,  for  they  are  kept  so  hidden.  Still,  let  us 
hope  for  the  best." 

Pauline  burst  into  tears.  "What  a  wretched 
failure  I  have  made  of  it  all ! "  she  cried.  "  Ah, 
if  I  had  only  known  sooner  that  my  project  would 
bring  such  disaster  upon  me  !  " 

"  It  has  brought  no  disaster  as  yet,"  said  Kiu- 
delon,  with  a  voice  full  of  the  most  earnest  sym- 
pathy. 

"  It  has    brought   distress,   regret,   torment !  " 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       263 

asseverated  Pauline,  still  struggling  with  her 
tears. 

"  Have  you  told  me  all  ? "  he  suddenly  asked, 
with  an  acute,  anxious  look. 

"  All  ?  "  murmured  Pauline. 

"  Yes.     Did  that  woman  say  anything  more  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Pauline  answered,  after  a  little  silence, 
with  lowered  eyes. 

"Ah!"  sounded  Kindelon's  exasperated  sigh. 
"  I  can  almost  guess  what  it  was,"  he  went  on. 
"  She  was  not  content,  then,  with  saying  atrocious 
things  of  your  marriage  ;  she  must  couple  our 
names  together — yours  and  mine." 

"  She  mentioned  another  name  still,"  said  Paul- 
ine, who  continued  to  gaze  at  the  floor.  "  It  was 
the  name  of  Cora  Dares."  Pauline  lifted  her  eyes, 
now ;  they  wore  a  determined,  glittering  look. 
"  She  said  that  Cora  Dares  was  madly  in  love  with 
you.  '  Madly '  struck  me  as  an  odd  enough  word 
to  apply  to  that  gentle,  dignified  girl." 

"  It  might  well  do  so  ! "  burst  from  Kindelon,  in 
a  smothered  voice.  He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor.  She  had  never  seen  him  show  such  an  ex- 
cited manner ;  all  his  past  volatility  was  as  nothing 
to  it.  And  yet  he  was  plainly  endeavoring  to  re- 
press his  excitement.  "  However,"  he  proceeded, 
in  a  swift  undertone,  "this  absurd  slanjder  need 
not  concern  you." 


264       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

"  You  call  it  slander,  as  if  you  did  not  really 
think  it  so,"  she  said. 

He  paused,  facing  her.  "Are  you  going  to  let 
the  venomous  spite  of  an  inferior  win  your  respect- 
ful credence  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  We  can't  help  believing  certain  things,"  said 
Pauline,  measuredly,  "  no  matter  who  utters  them. 
I  believed  that  Cora  Dares  was  in  love  with  you 
before  I  heard  Miss  Cragge  say  it.  Or,  at  least,  I 
seriously  suspected  as  much.  But  of  course  this 
could  not  be  a  matter  of  the  least  concern  to  my- 
self, until" —  And  here  she  paused  very  sud- 
denly. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  queried.     «  Until  ?  "— 

She  appeared  to  reflect,  for  an  instant,  on  the 
advisability  of  saying  more.  Then  she  lifted  both 
hands,  with  a  tossing,  reckless  motion.  "Oh," 
she  declared,  "  not  until  that  woman  had  the  au- 
dacity to  accuse  me  of  heartlessly  standing  in  the 
path  of  Cora  Dares's  happiness  —  of  alienating 
your  regard  from  her  —  of  using,  moreover,  a  hate- 
fully treacherous  means  toward  this  end — a  means 
which  I  should  despise  myself  if  I  ever  dreamed 
of  using ! "  .  .  .  Pauline's  voice  had  begun  to 
tremble  while  she  pronounced  the  latter  word. 

"I  understand,"  he  said.  His  own  voice  was 
unsteady,  though  the  anger  had  in  great  measure 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       265 

left  it.  To  her  surprise,  he  drew  quite  near  her, 
and  then  seated  himself  close  at  her  side.  "If 
you  did  truly  care  for  me,"  came  his  next  sen- 
tence, "how  little  I  should  care  what  false  witness 
that  woman  bore  against  the  attachment !  But 
since  that  day  down  at  the  Battery,  when  I  wore 
my  heart  on  my  sleeve  so  daringly,  I  have  made  a 
resolve.  It  will  be  your  fault,  too,  if  I  fail  to 
keep  it.  And  if  I  do  fail,  I  shall  fail  most  wretch- 
edly. I  —  I  shall  make  a  sort  of  desperate  leap 
at  the  barrier  which  now  separates  you  and 
me." 

"You  say  it  will  be  my  fault,"  was  Pauline's 
response.  The  color  had  stolen  into  her  cheeks 
before  she  framed  her  next  sentence,  and  with  a 
most  clear  glow.  "  How  will  it  be  my  fault  ?  " 

"  You  must  have  given  me  encouragement,"  he 
said,  "  or  at  least  something  that  I  shall  take  for 
encouragement." 

A  silence  followed.  She  was  looking  straight 
at  the  opposite  wall ;  her  cheeks  were  almost  rose- 
ate now ;  a  tearful  light  shone  in  her  eyes  as  his 
sidelong  look  watched  them.  "  Perhaps,"  she  fal- 
tered, "you  might  take  for  encouragement  what 
I  did  not  mean  as  such." 

"  Ah,  that  is  cruel ! "  he  retorted. 

She  turned  quickly;  she  put  one  hand  on  his 


266        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW. 

arm.  "  I  did  not  wish  to  be  cruel !  "  she  affirmed, 
gently  and  very  feelingly. 

It  seemed  to  her,  then,  that  the  strong  arm  on 
which  her  hand  rested  underwent  a  faint  tre- 
mor. 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  be  cruel,  where  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

"  Easy  ! "  she  repeated,  rapidly  withdrawing  her 
hand,  and  using  a  hurt  intonation. 

He  leaned  closer  to  her,  then.  "  Yes,"  he  said. 
"And  you  know  why.  I  have  told  you  of  the  dif- 
ference between  us.  I  have  told  you,  because  I 
am  incessantly  feeling  it." 

"  There  is  a  great  difference,"  she  answered,  with 
a  brisk  little  nod,  as  though  of  relief  and  gratifi- 
cation. "You  have  more  intellect  than  I  —  far 
more.  You  are  exceptional,  capable,  important. 
I  am  simply  usual,  strenuous,  and  quite  of  the 
general  herd.  That  is  the  only  difference  which 
I  will  admit,  although  you  have  reproached  me 
for  practising  a  certain  kind  of  masquerade — for 
secretly  respecting  the  shadow  and  vanity  called 
caste,  birth,  place.  Yes,"  she  went  on,  with  a  soft 
fervor  that  partook  of  exultation,  while  she  turned 
her  eyes  upon  his  face  and  thought  how  extraor- 
dinary a  face  it  was  in  its  look  of  power  and  man- 
liness, "  I  will  accede  to  no  other  difference  than 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       267 

this.  You  are  above  me,  and  I  will  not  let  you 
place  yourself  on  my  level !  " 

She  felt  his  breath  touch  her  cheek,  then,  as  he 
replied :  "  You  are  so  fine  and  high  and  pure  that 
I  think  you  could  love  only  one  whom  you  set 
above  yourself — however  mistakenly." 

"My  love  must  go  with  respect  —  always,"  she 
said. 

"  I  ain  not  worthy  of  your  respect." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  credit  Miss  Cragge  ?  " 

"  Did  she  say  that  I  was  unworthy  of  it  ?  " 

"I  —  I  cannot  tell  you  what  she  said  on  that 
point.  I  would  not  tell  you,  though  you  begged 
me  to  do  so." 

She  saw  a  bitter  smile  cross  his  face,  but  it  lin- 
gered there  merely  an  instant.  "I  can  guess,"  he 
avowed,  "  that  she  tried  to  make  you  believe  I  do 
not  really  love  you !  It  is  so  like  her  to  do 
that." 

"I  —  I  will  say  nothing,"  stammered  Pauline, 
once  more  averting  her  eyes. 

Immediately  afterward  he  had  taken  her  hand 
in  his  own.  She  resisted  neither  its  clasp  nor  its 
pressure. 

"You  know  that  I  love  you,"  she  now  heard 
him  say,  though  the  leap  of  her  heart  made  his 
words  sound  far  off,  confused,  unreal.  "  You  must 


268        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

have  known  it  days  ago  !  There  —  my  resolve  is 
broken  !  But  what  can  I  do  ?  You  have  stooped 
downward  from  your  high  state  by  telling  me  that 
I  am  better  than  you.  I  am  not  better  than  you, 
Pauline!  I  am  below  you  —  all  the  world  would 
say  so  except  yourself.  But  you  don't  care  for  the 
world.  Well,  then  I  wril  despise  it,  too,  because 
you  bid  me.  I  never  respected  what  you  represent 
until  you  made  me  respect  it  by  making  me  love 
you.  Now  I  respect  and  love  it,  both,  because  you 
are  a  part  of  it.  This  is  what  your  project,  your 
ambition,  has  come  to.  Ah  !  how  pitiful  a  failure  ! 
you  're  disgusted  with  your  salon  —  you  have  been 
ill-treated,  rebuffed,  deceived !  The  little  comedy 
is  played  to  the  end  —  and  what  remains  ?  Only 
a  poor  newspaper-fellow,  a  sort  of  Irish  adventur- 
ing journalist,  who  offers  you  his  worthless  heart 
to  do  what  you  choose  with  it !  What  will  you 
choose  to  do  with  it  ?  I  don't  presume  to  advise, 
to  demand  —  not  even  to  ask !  If  you  said  you 
would  marry  Ralph  Kindelon  }^ou  would  be  mak- 
ing a  horrible  match !  Don't  let  us  forget  that. 
Don't  let  us  forget  how  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  would 
storm  and  scold !  " 

He  had  both  her  hands  in  both  his  own,  now. 
She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  sparkled  and 
swam  in  tears.  But  though  she. did  not  withdraw 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       269 

her  hands,  she  receded  from  him  while  brokenly 
saying : 

"I  — -I  don't  care  anything  about  Aunt  Cynthia 
Poughkeepsie.  But  there  —  there  is  something 
else  that  I  do  care  about.  It  —  it  seems  to  steal 
almost  like  a  ghost  between  us  —  I  can't  tell  why 
—  I  have  no  real  reason  to  be  troubled  as  I  am  — 
it  is  like  a  last  and  most  severe  distress  wrought 
by  this  failure  of  mine  with  all  those  new  people. 
.  .  It  is  the  thought  that  }rou  have  made  Cora 
Dares  believe  that  you  meant  to  marry  her." 

Pauline's  voice  died  away  wretchedly,  and  she 
drooped  her  head  as  the  final  faint  word  was 
spoken.  But  she  still  let  Kindelon  hold  her 
hands.  And  his  grasp  tightened  about  them  as 
she  heard  him  answer : 

"  I  suppose  Cora  Dares  may  have  believed  that .  . 
But,  good  God !  am  I  so  much  to  blame  ?  I  had 
never  met  you,  Pauline.  It  was  before  I  went  to 
Ireland  the  last  time —  I  never  asked  her  to 
marry  me —  It  was  what  they  call  a  flirtation. 
Am  I  to  be  held  to  account  for  it?  Hundreds 
of  men  have  been  foolish  in  this  way  before  my- 
self—  Have  you  raised  me  so  high  only  to  dash 
me  down  ? —  Won't  you  speak  ?  Won't  you  tell 
me  that  you  forgive  a  dead  fancy  for  the  sake  of  a 
living  love  ?  Are  you  so  cruel  ?  —  so  exacting  ?  " 


270        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  I  am  not  cruel,"  she  denied,  lifting  her  eyes.  .  . 

It  was  a  good  many  minutes  later  that  she  said 
to  him,  with  the  tears  standing  on  her  flushed 
cheeks,  and  her  fluttered  voice  in  truly  sad  case, 

"I  —  I  am  going  to  accept  the  Irish  adventuring 
journalist  (as  —  as  he  calls  himself)  for  my  hus- 
band, though  he  —  he  has  never  really  asked  me 
yet." 

"He  could  not  ask  you,"  affirmed  Kindelon, 
with  by  no  means  his  first  kiss.  "Like  every 
subject  who  wishes  to  marry  a  princess,  he  was 
forced  to  recognize  a  new  matrimonial  code ! " 


XII. 

TDAULINE  was  surprised,  during  the  several 
ensuing  days,  to  find  how  greatly  her  indigna- 
tion toward  Miss  Cragge  had  diminished.  The 
new  happiness  which  had  come  to  her  looked  in  a 
way  resultant,  as  she  reflected  upon  it,  from  that 
most  trying  and  oppressive  interview. 

"  I  could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to  forgive 
her  completely,"  she  told  Kindelori,  with  a  beam- 
ing look. 

"  I  wish  that  my  forgiveness  were  to  be  secured 
as  easily,"  replied  Kindelon. 

"Your  forgiveness  from  whom?"  asked  Paul- 
ine, with  a  pretty  start  of  amazement. 

"  Oh,  you  know.  From  your  aunt,  the  vastly 
conservative  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  and  her  equally 
conservative  daughter." 

Pauline  gave  a  laugh  of  mock  irritation.  She 
could  not  be  really  irritated ;  she  was  too  drenched 
with  the  wholesome  sunshine  of  good  spirits. 
"It  is  so  ridiculous,  Ralph,"  she  said,  "for  you  to 
speak  of  my  relations  as  if  they  were  my  custo- 

271 


272        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

dians  or  my  patrons.  I  am  completely  removed 
from  them  as  regards  all  responsibility,  all  inde- 
pendence. I  wish  to  keep  friends  with  them,  of 
course ;  we  are  of  the  same  blood,  and  quarrels 
between  kinspeople  are  always  in  odious  taste. 
But  any  very  insolent  opposition  would  make  me 
break  with  them  to-morrow." 

"  And  also  with  your  cousin,  Courtlandt  Beek- 
man  ?  "  asked  Kindelon,  smiling,  though  not  very 
mirthfully. 

Pauline  put  her  head  on  one  side.  "  I  draw  a 
sharp  line  between  him  and  the  Poughkeepsies," 
she  said,  either  seeming  to  deliberate  or  else  doing 
so  in  good  earnest.  "  We  were  friends  since  chil- 
dren, Court  and  I,"  she  proceeded.  "I  should 
hate  not  to  keep  friends  with  Court  always." 

"  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  break  with 
him,"  said  Kindelon,  with  undoubted  gravity. 

"  And  why  ?  "  she  quickly  questioned. 

"  He  abominates  me." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  And  even  if  he  does,  he  will 
change  in  time  ...  I  thought  of  writing  him 
to-day,"  Pauline  slowly  proceeded.  "But  I  did 
not.  I  have  put  off  all  that  sort  of  thing  shame- 
fully." 

"  All  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"Yes — writing  to  people  that  I  am  engaged,  you 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       273 

know.  That  is  the  invariable  custom.  You  must 
announce  your  intended  matrimonial  step  in  due 
form." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  pitying  smile  which  she 
thought  became  him  most  charmingly.  "  And  you 
have  procrastinated  from  sheer  dread,  my  poor 
Pauline ! "  he  murmured,  lifting  her  hand  to  his 
lips  and  letting  it  rest  against  them.  "  Dread  of 
an  explosion  —  of  a  distressing  nervous  ordeal. 
How  I  read  your  adroit  little  deceits !  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  momentarily  counter- 
feiting annoyance.  "  You  absurd  would-be  seer ! " 
she  exclaimed.  "  No,  I  '11  call  you  a  raven.  But 
you  can't  depress  me  by  your  ominous  wing-flap- 
ping! I  thought  Aunt  Cynthia  would  drop  in 
yesterday;  I  thought  most  certainly  that  she 
would  drop  in  to-day.  That  is  my  reason  for  not 
making  our  engagement  transpire  through  letter." 

"  I  see,"  said  Kindelon,  with  a  comic,  quizzical 
sombreness.  "You  didn't  want  to  open  your 
guns  on  the  enemy ;  you  were  waiting  for  at  least 
a  show  of  offensive  attack.  .  .  " 

But,  as  it  chanced,  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  did 
drop  in  upon  Pauline  at  about  two  o'clock  the 
next  day.  She  came  unattended  by  Sallie,  but 
she  had  important  and  indeed  momentous  news  to 
impart  concerning  Sallie.  As  regarded  Pauline's 


274       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

engagement,  she  was,  of  course,  in  total  ignorance 
of  it.  But  she  chose  to  deliver  her  own  supreme 
tidings  with  no  suggestion  of  impulsive  haste. 

"  You  are  looking  very  well,"  she  said  to  Paul- 
ine, as  they  sat  on  a  yielding  cachemire  lounge 
together,  in  the  little  daintily-decked  lower  recep- 
tion-room. "  And,  my  dear  niece,"  she  continued, 
"  you  must  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  full  of  con- 
gratulations at  your  not  being  made  ill  by  what 
happened  here  the  other  evening.  Sallie  and  I 
felt  for  you  deeply.  It  was  so  apparent  to  us  that 
you  would  never  have  done  it  if  you  had  known 
how  dreadfully  it  would  turn  out  .  .  .  But  there  is 
no  use  of  raking  up  old  by-gones.  You  have  seen 
the  folly  of  the  whole  thing,  of  course.  My  dear, 
it  has  naturally  got  abroad.  The  Hackensacks 
know  it,  and  the  Tremaines,  and  those  irrepres- 
sible gossips,  the  Desbrosses  girls.  But  Sallie  and 
I  have  silenced  all  stupid  scandals  as  best  we 
could,  and  merely  represented  the  affair  as  a 
capricious  little  pleasantry  on  your  part.  You 
have  n't  lost  caste  a  particle  by  it  —  don't  fancy 
that  you  have.  You  were  a  Van  Corlear,  and 
you  're  now  Mrs.  Varick,  with  a  great  fortune ;  and 
such  a  whim  is  to  be  pardoned  accordingly." 

Pauline  was  biting  her  lips,  now.  "I  don't 
want  it  to  be  pardoned,  Aunt  Cynthia,"  she  said, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW.       275 

"and  I  don't  hold  it  either  as  a  capricious  pleas- 
antry or  a  whim.  It  was  very  serious  with  me.  I 
told  you  that  before." 

"  Truly  you  did,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Poughkeep- 
sie.  She  laughed  a  mellow  laugh  of  amusement, 
and  laid  one  gloved  hand  upon  Pauline's  arm.  "  But 
you  saw  those  horrible  people  in  your  drawing- 
rooms,  and  I  am  sure  that  this  must  have  satisfied 
you  that  the  whole  project  was  impossible  .  .  .  en 
Vair,  my  dear,  as  it  unquestionably  was.  Why, 
I  assure  you  that  Sallie  and  I  laughed  together  for 
a  whole  hour  after  we  got  home.  They  were 
nearly  all  such  droll  creatures!  It  was  like  a 
fancy-ball  without  the  mask,  you  know.  Upon 
my  word,  I  enjoyed  it  after  a  fashion,  Pauline ;  so 
did  Sallie.  One  woman  always  addressed  me  as 
'  ma'am.'  Another  asked  me  if  I  '  resided  on  the 
Fifth  Avenue.'  Still  another  .  .  .  (no,  by  the 
way,  that  was  n't  a  woman ;  it  was  a  man)  .  .  . 
inquired  of  Sallie  whether  she  danced  the  Lancers 
much  in  fashionable  circles.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  funny 
it  all  was !  And  they  did  n't  talk  of  books  in  the 
least.  I  supposed  that  we  were  to  be  pelted  with 
quotations  from  living  and  dead  authors,  and 
asked  all  kinds  of  radical  questions  as  to  what  we 
had  read.  But  they  simply  talked  to  us  of  the 
most  ordinary  matters,  and  in  a  very  extraordinary 


276        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

way  .  .  .  However,  let  us  not  concern  ourselves 
with  them  any  more,  my  dear.  They  were  horrid, 
and  you  know  they  were  horrid,  and  it  goes  with- 
out saying  that  you  will  have  no  more  to  do  with 
them." 

"  I  thought  some  of  them  horrid,"  said  Pauline, 
with  an  ambiguous  coolness,  "  though  perhaps  I 
found  them  so  in  a  different  way  from  yourself." 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  repeated  her  mellow  laugh, 
and  majestically  nodded  once  or  twice  as  she 
did  so. 

"Well,  well,  my  dear,"  she  recommenced,  "let 
us  dismiss  them  and  forget  them  ...  I  hope  you 
are  going  out  again.  You  have  only  to  signify  a 
wish,  you  know.  There  will  not  be  the  slightest 
feeling  in  society — not  the  slightest." 

"Realty?"  said  Pauline,  with  an  involuntary 
sarcasm  which  she  could  not  repress. 

But  her  aunt  received  the  sarcasm  in  impervious 
good  faith.  "  Oh,  not  the  slightest  feeling,"  she 
repeated.  "And  I  do  hope,  Pauline,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  certain  distinct  yet  unexplained  altera- 
tion of  manner,  "  that  you  will  make  your  rentrge, 
as  it  were,  at  a  little  dinner  I  shall  give  Sallie  next 
Thursday.  It  celebrates  an  event."  Here  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie  paused  and  looked  full  at  her  niece. 
"  I  mean  Sallie's  engagement." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       277 

"Sallie's  engagement?"  quickly  murmured 
Pauline.  The  latter  word  had  carried  an  instant 
personal  force  of  reminder. 

"  Yes  —  to  Lord  Glenartney.  You  met  him 
once  or  twice,  I  believe." 

"  Lord  Glenartney !  "  softly  iterated  Pauline. 
She  was  thinking  what  a  gulf  of  difference  lay, 
for  the  august  social  intelligence  of  her  aunt,  be- 
tween the  separate  bits  of  tidings  which  she  and 
Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  had  been  waiting  to  impart, 
each  to  each. 

"  Yes,  Glenartney  has  proposed  to  dear  Sallie," 
began  the  lady,  waxing  promptly  and  magnifi- 
cently confidential.  "Of  course  it  is  a  great 
match,  even  for  Sallie.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  that.  I  don't  deny  it ;  I  don't  for  an  instant 
shut  my  eyes  to  it ;  I  consider  that  it  would  justly 
subject  me  to  ridicule  if  I  did.  Lord  Glenartney 
was  not  expected  to  marry  in  this  country ;  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  do  so.  He  is  im- 
mensely rich ;  he  has  three  seats,  in  England  and 
Scotland.  He  is  twice  a  Baron,  besides  being 
once  an  Earl,  and  is  first  cousin  to  the  Duke  of 
Devergoil.  Sallie  has  done  well;  I  wish  every- 
body to  clearly  understand,  my  dear  Pauline,  that 
I  think  Sallie  has  done  brilliantly  and  wonderfully 
well.  A  mother  always  has  ambitious  dreams  for 


278        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

her  child  .  .  .  can  a  mother's  heart  help  having 
them?  But  in  my  very  wildest  dreams  I  never 
calculated  upon  such  a  marriage  for  my  darling 
child  as  this!" 

Pauline  sat  silent  before  her  aunt's  final  out- 
burst of  maternal  fervor.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
silly  caricature  upon  all  manly  worthiness  that  the 
Scotch  peer  just  named  had  seemed  to  her.  She 
was  thinking  of  her  own  doleful,  mundane  mar- 
riage in  the  past.  She  was  wondering  what  ma- 
lign power  had  so  crooked  and  twisted  human 
wisdom  and  human  sense  of  fitness,  that  a  woman 
endowed  with  brains,  education,  knowledge  of 
right  and  wrong,  should  thus  exult  (and  in  the 
sacred  name  of  maternity  as  well !)  over  a  union 
of  this  wofully  sordid  nature. 

"I  —  I  hope  Sallie  will  be  happy,"  she  said, 
feeling  that  any  real  doubt  on  the  point  might 
strike  her  aunt  as  a  piece  of  personal  envy.  "  Cu- 
riously enough,"  she  continued,  "  J,  also  have  to 
tell  you  of  an  engagement,  Aunt  Cynthia." 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  raised  her  brows  in  surprise. 
"  Oh,  you  mean  poor  dear  Lily  Schenectady.  I  've 
heard  of  it.  It  has  come  at  last,  my  dear,  and  he 
is  only  a  clerk  on  about  two  thousand  a  year,  be- 
sides not  being  of  the  direct  line  of  the  Auchin- 
closses,  as  one  might  say,  but  merely  a  sort  of 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       279 

obscure  relation.  Still,  it  is  said  that  he  has  fair 
expectations ;  and  then  you  know  that  poor  dear 
Lily's  freckles  are  a  drawback,  and  that  she  has 
been  called  a  spotted  lily  by  some  witty  persons, 
and  that  it  has  really  become  a  nickname  in 
society,  and  "  — 

"  I  did  not  refer  to  Lily  Schenectady,"  here  in- 
terrupted Pauline.  "I  spoke  of  myself." 

The  mine  had  been  exploded.  Pauline  and  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Pauline ! "  presently  came  the  faltered  an- 
swer. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Cynthia,  I  spoke  of  myself.  I  am 
engaged  to  Mr.  Kindelon." 

"Mr.  Kindelon!" 

"  Yes.     I  am  sure  you  know  who  he  is." 

"Oh,  I  know  who  he  is."  Mrs.  Poughkeepsie 
spoke  these  words  with  a  ruminative  yet  aston- 
ished drawl. 

"Well,  I  am  engaged  to  him,"  said  Pauline, 
stoutly  but  not  over-assertively.  She  had  never 
looked  more  composed,  more  simply  womanly 
than  now. 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  rose.  It  always  meant  some- 
thing when  this  lady  rose.  It  meant  a  flutter  of 
raiment,  a  deliberation  of  readjustment,  a  kind  of 
superb,  massive  dislocation. 


280       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  I  am  horrified  !  "  exclaimed  the  mother  of  the 
future  Countess  Glenartney. 

Pauline  rose,  then,  with  a  dry,  chill  gleam  in 
her  eyes.  "  I  think  that  there  is  nothing  to  hor- 
rify you,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  gave  a  kind  of  sigh  that  in 
equine  phrase  we  might  call  a  snort.  Her  large 
body  visibly  trembled.  She  rapidly  drew  forth  a 
handkerchief  from  some  receptacle  in  her  ample- 
flowing  costume,  and  placed  it  at  her  lips.  Paul- 
ine steadily  watched  her,  with  hands  crossed  a 
little  below  the  waist. 

"  I  do  so  hope  that  you  are  not  going  to  faint, 
Aunt  Cynthia,"  she  said,  with  a  satire  that  par- 
took of  strong  belligerence. 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie,  with  her  applied  handker- 
chief, did  not  look  at  all  like  fainting  as  she 
glanced  above  the  snowy  cambric  folds  toward  her 
niece. 

"I  —  I  never  faint,  Pauline  ...  it  is  not  my 
way.  I  —  I  know  how  to  bear  calamities.  But 
this  is  quite  horrible  ...  it  agitates  me  accor- 
dingly. I  —  I  have  nothing  to  say  and  yet  I  —  I 
have  a  great  deal  to  say." 

"  Then  don't  say  it ! "  now  sharply  rang  Paul- 
ine's retort. 

"  Ah  !   you  lose  your  temper  ?    It  is  just  what 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       281 

I  might  have  thought  —  under  the  circumstan- 
ces!" 

Pauline  clenched  her  teeth  together  for  a  short 
space,  to  keep  from  any  futile  disclosure  of  anger. 
And  presently  she  said,  with  a  shrill  yet  even 
directness,  — 

"What,  pray,  are  the  circumstances?  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  to  marry  the  man  whom  I  choose 
to  marry.  You  advised  me — you  nearly  forced 
me,  once  —  to  marry  the  man  whom  it  was  an 
outrage  to  make  my  husband !  " 

"  Pauline !  " 

"  What  I  tell  you  is  true  !  He  whom  I  select  is 
not  of  your  world !  And,  by  the  way,  what  is  your 
world  ?  A  little  throng  of  mannerists,  snobs,  and 
triflers  !  I  care  nothing  for  such  a  world !  I 
want  a  larger  and  a  better.  You  say  that  I  have 
failed  in  my  effort  to  break  down  this  barrier 
of  conservatism  which  hedged  me  about  from  my 
birth  .  .  .  Well,  allow  that  I  have  failed  in  that ! 
I  have  not  failed  in  finding  some  true  gold  from 
all  that  you  sneer  at  as  tawdry  dross !  .  .  .  Taw- 
dry !  I  did  well  to  chance  upon  the  word  !  What 
was  that  gentlemanly  bit  of  vice  whom  you  were 
so  willing  I  should  marry  a  few  years  ago  ? 
You  've  just  aired  your  tenets  to  me ;  I  '11  air  a 
few  of  mine  to  you  now.  We  live  in  New  York, 


282       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

you  and  I.  Do  you  know  what  New  York  means  ? 
It  means  what  America  means  —  or  what  America 
ought  to  mean,  from  Canada  to  the  Gulf!  And 
that  is — exemption  from  the  hateful  bonds  of 
self-glorifying  snobbery  which  have  disgraced 
Europe  for  centuries !  You  call  yourself  an  aris- 
tocrat. How  dare  you  do  so  ?  You  dwell  in  a 
land  which  was  washed  with  the  blood,  less  than 
a  century  ago,  of  men  who  died  to  kill  just  what 
you  boast  of  and  exalt !  Look  more  to  your 
breeding  and  your  brains,  and  less  to  your  so- 
called  caste  !  I  come  of  your  own  race,  and  can 
speak  with  right  about  it.  What  was  it,  less  than 
four  generations  ago?  You  call  it  Dutch,  and 
with  a  grand  air.  It  flowed  in  the  veins  of  immi- 
grant Dutchmen,  who  would  have  opened  their 
eyes  with  wonder  to  see  the  mansion  you  dwell 
in,  the  silver  forks  you  eat  with !  They  dwelt  in 
wooden  shanties  and  ate  with  pewter  forks  .  .  . 
Your  objection  to  my  marriage  with  Ralph  Kin- 
delon  is  horrible  —  that  and  nothing  more !  He 
towers  above  the  idiot  whom  you  are  glad  to  have 
Sallie  marry !  What  do  I  care  for  the  little 
'lord'?  You  bow  before  it;  I  despise  it.  You 
call  my  project,  my  dream,  my  desire,  a  failure  .  .  . 
I  grant  that  it  is.  But  it  is  immeasurably  above 
that  petty  worship  of  the  Golden  Calf,  which  you 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW. 

name  respectability  and  which  I  denounce  as  only 
a  pitiful  sham !  The  world  is  growing  older,  but 
you  don't  grow  old  with  it.  You  close  your  eyes 
to  all  progress.  You  get  a  modish  milliner,  you 
keep  your  pew  in  Grace  Church,  you  drop  a  big 
coin  into  the  plate  when  a  millionaire  hands  it  to 
you,  and  you  are  content.  Your  contentment  is 
a  pitiful  fraud.  Your  purse  could  do  untold  good, 
and  yet  you  keep  it  clasped —  or,  if  you  loose  the 
clasp,  you  do  it  with  a  flourish,  a  vogue,  an  6dat. 
.  .  .  Mrs.  Amsterdam  has  done  the  same  for  this 
or  that  asylum  or  hospital,  and  so  you,  with  fash- 
ionable acquiescence,  do  likewise.  And  you  — 
you,  Cynthia  Poughkeepsie,  who  tried  to  wreck 
my  girlish  life  and  almost  succeeded  —  you,  who 
read  nothing  of  what  great  modern  minds  in  their 
grandly  helpful  impulse  toward  humanity  are  try- 
ing to  make  humanity  hear  —  you,  who  think  the 
fit  set  of  a  patrician's  gown  above  the  big  struggle 
of  men  and  women  to  live  —  you,  who  immerse 
yourself  in  idle  vanities  and  talk  of  everyone  out- 
side your  paltry  pale  as  you  would  talk  of  dogs  — 
you  dare  to  upbraid  me  because  I  announce  to 
you  that  I  will  marry  a  man  whom  power 
of  mind  makes  your  superior,  and  whom  natu- 
ral gifts  of  courtesy  make  far  more  than  your 
equal  1 " 


284       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

As  Pauline  hotly  finished  she  saw  her  aunt  re- 
cede many  steps  from  her. 

"Oh,  this  —  this  is  frightful!"  gasped  Mrs. 
Poughkeepsie.  "  It  —  it  is  the  theatre  !  You  will 
go.  on  the  stage,  I  suppose.  It  seems  to  me  you 
have  done  everything  but  go  on  the  stage,  already ! 
That  would  be  the  crowning  insult  to  yourself— 
to  your  family ! " 

"  I  shan't  go  on  the  stage,"  shot  Pauline,  "  be- 
cause I  have  no  talent  for  it.  If  I  had  talent, 
perhaps  I  would  go.  I  think  it  a  far  better  life 
for  an  American  woman  than  to  prate  triumph- 
antly about  marrying  her  daughter  to  a  titled 
English  fool!" 

Mrs.  Poughkeepsie  uttered  a  cry,  at  this  point. 
She  passed  from  the  room,  and  Pauline,  overcome 
with  the  excess  of  her  disclaimer,  soon  afterward 
sank  upon  a  chair  .  .  . 

An  almost  hysterical  fit  of  weeping  at  once 
followed  ...  It  must  have  been  a  half-hour  later 
when  she  felt  Kindeloii's  face  lowered  to  her  own. 
He  had  nearly  always  come,  since  their  engage- 
ment, at  more  or  less  unexpected  hours. 

"Some  hateful  thing  has  happened,"  he  said 
very  tenderly ;  "  whom  have  you  seen  ?  Why  do 
you  sob  so,  Pauline  ?  Have  you  seen  her  ?  Has 
Cora  Dares  been  here?" 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       285 

Pauline  almost  sprang  from  her  chair,  facing 
him.  "Cora  Dares,"  she  cried,  plaintively  and 
with  passion.  "  Why  do  you  mention  her  name 
now?" 

Kindelon  folded  her  in  his  strong  arms.  "  Paul- 
ine," he  expostulated,  "be  quiet!  I  merely 
thought  of  what  you  yourself  had  told  me,  and  of 
what  I  myself  had  told  youl  What  is  it,  then, 
since  it  is  not  she  ?  Tell  me,  and  I  will  listen  as 
best  I  can." 

She  soon  began  to  tell  him,  leaning  her  head 
upon  his  broad  breast,  falteringly  and  with  occa- 
sional severe  effort. 

"  I —  I  was  wrong,"  she  at  length  finished.  "  I 
should  not  have  spoken  so  rashly,  so  madly  .  .  . 
But  it  was  all  because  of  you,  Ralph  —  because  of 
my  love  for  you !  " 

He  pressed  her  more  closely  within  the  arms 
that  held  her. 

"  I  don't  blame  you  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
were  wrong,  as  you  admit  that  you  were  wrong 
.  .  .  but  I  don't  blame  you ! " 


XTIL 

r  I  THAT  night  was  an  almost  sleepless  one  for 
Pauline,  and  during  the  next  morning  she 
was  in  straits  of  keen  contrition.  Theoretically 
she  despised  her  aunt,  but  in  reality  she  despised 
far  more  her  own  loss  of  control.  Her  self-humili- 
ation was  so  pungent,  indeed,  that  when,  at  twelve 
o'clock  on  this  same  day,  Courtlandt's  card  was 
handed  to  her,  she  felt  a  strong  desire  to  escape 
seeing  him,  through  the  facile  little  falsehood  of  a 
"  not  at  home."  But  she  concluded,  presently, 
that  it  would  be  best  to  face  the  situation  at  once, 
since  avoidance  would  be  simply  postponement. 
Courtlandt  was  as  inevitable  as  death ;  he  must 
be  met  sooner  or  later. 

She  met  him.  She  did  not  expect  that  he  would 
offer  her  his  hand,  and  she  made  no  sign  of  offer- 
ing her  own.  He  was  standing  near  a  small  table, 
as  she  entered,  and  his  attention  seemed  much  oc- 
cupied with  some  exquisitely  lovely  roses  in  a  vase 
of  aerial  porcelain.  He  somehow  contrived  not 
286 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       287 

wholly  to  disregard  the  roses  while  he  regarded 
Pauline.  It  was  very  cleverly  done,  and  with  that 
unconscious  quiet  which  stamped  all  his  clever 
doings. 

"  These  are  very  nice,"  he  said,  referring  to  the 
roses.  He  had  a  pair  of  tawny  gloves  grasped  in 
one  hand,  and  he  made  an  indolent,  whipping 
gesture  toward  the  vase  while  Pauline  seated  her- 
self. But  he  still  remained  standing. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  as  we  speak  words  automati 
cally.  "  They  are  rare  here,  but  I  know  that  kind 
of  rose  in  Paris." 

"  Did  your  future  husband  send  them  ?  "  asked 
Courtlandt.  His  composure  was  superb.  He  did 
not  look  at  Pauline,  but  with  apparent  carelessness 
at  the  flowers. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  and  then,  after  a  slight  pause, 
she  added :  "  Mr.  Kindelon  sent  them." 

Courtlandt  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  here. 
"  Was  n't  it  rather  sudden  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  My  engagement  ?  " 

"  Your  engagement." 

"  Sudden  ?     Well,  I  suppose  so." 

"  I  did  n't  expect  it  quite  yet." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh  which  sounded  thin  and 
paltry  to  her  own  ears.  "  That  means  you  were 
prepared  for  it,  then  ?  " 


288       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  Oh,  I  saw  it  coming." 

"  And  Aunt  Cynthia  has  told  you,  no  doubt." 

"  Yes.  Aunt  Cynthia  has  told  me.  I  felt  that 
I  ought  to  drop  in  with  my  congratulations." 

Pauline  rose  now ;  her  lips  were  trembling,  and 
her  voice  likewise,  as  she  said :  — 

"  I  do  hope  that  you  give  them  sincerely, 
Court." 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way,  I  don't  give 
them  at  all." 

"  Then  you  came  here  to  mock  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  came  here.  I  think  it 
would  have  been  best  for  me  not  to  come.  I 
thought  so  when  I  decided  to  come.  Probably 
you  do  not  understand  this.  I  can't  help  you,  in 
that  case,  for  I  don't  understand  it  myself." 

"  I  choose  to  draw  my  own  conclusions,  and 
they  are  kindly  and  friendly  ones.  Never  mind 
how  or  what  I  understand.  You  are  here,  and 
you  have  said  nothing  rude  yet.  I  hope  you  are 
not  going  to  say  anything  rude,  for  I  have  n't  the 
heart  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  you  —  one  of  our  old, 
funny,  soon-healed  quarrels,  you  know.  I  am  too 
happy,  in  one  way,  and  too  repentant  in  another." 

"  Repentant  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  said  frightful  things  yesterday  to  Aunt 
Cynthia.  I  dare  say  she  has  repeated  them." 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       289 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  repeated  every  one  of  them." 

"And  no  doubt  with  a  good  deal  of  wrathful 
embellishment ! "  here  exclaimed  Pauline,  brist- 
ling. 

"  Do  you  think  they  would  bear  decoration  ? 
Would  n't  it  be  like  putting  a  cupola  on  the  apex 
of  the  Trinity  Church  steeple  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  "  cried  Pauline.  "  I  might  have 
said  a  great  deal  worse!  Oceans  and  continents 
lie  between  Aunt  Cynthia  and  myself!  And  I 
told  her  so  !  " 

"  Really  ?  I  thought  you  were  at  pretty  close 
quarters  with  each  other,  judging  from  her  account 
of  the  row." 

"  There  was  no  row  I "  declared  Pauline,  draw- 
ing herself  up  very  finely.  "  What  did  she  accuse 
me  of  saying,  please  ?  " 

u  Oh,  I  forget.  She  said  you  abused  her  like  a 
pickpocket  for  not  liking  the  man  you  're  engaged 
to." 

Pauline  shrugged  her  shoulders,  in  the  manner 
of  one  who  thinks  better  of  the  angry  mood,  and 
handsomely  abjures  it.  "  Positively,  Courtlandt," 
she  said,  "  I  begin  to  think  you  had  no  purpose 
whatever  in  coming  here  to-day." 

His  sombre  brown  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  though 
quite  faintly,  as  he  now  fixed  them  upon  her.  "  I 


290       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

certainly  had  one  purpose,"  he  said.  She  saw 
that  his  right  hand  had  thrust  itself  into  the 
breast  of  his  coat,  as  though  it  searched  there  for 
something.  "  I  wanted  to  show  you  this,  as  I  im- 
agined that  you  don't  see  the  horrid  little  sheet 
called  '  The  Morning  Monitor,' "  he  proceeded. 

"  *  The  Morning  Monitor ' !  "  faltered  Pauline, 
with  a  sudden  grievous  premonition,  as  she  watched 
her  cousin  draw  forth  a  folded  newspaper.  "  No, 
I  never  heard  of  it." 

"  It  has  evidently  heard  of  you,"  he  answered. 
"  I  never  read  the  vilely  personal  little  affair.  But 
a  kind  friend  showed  me  this  issue  of  to-day.  Just 
glance  at  the  second  column  on  the  second  page  — 
the  one  which  is  headed  '  The  Adventures  of  a 
Widow' — and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Pauline  took  the  newspaper  with  unsteady  hand. 
She  sank  into  her  chair  again,  and  began  to  read 
the  column  indicated.  The  journal  which  she 
now  held  was  one  of  recent  origin  in  New  York, 
and  it  marked  the  lowest  ebb  of  scandalous  news- 
paper license.  It  had  secured  an  enormous  circu- 
lation; it  was  already  threatening  to  make  its 
editor  a  Croesus.  It  traded,  in  the  most  unblush- 
ing way,  upon  the  curiosity  of  its  subscribers  for 
a  knowledge  of  the  peccadilloes,  imprudences,  and 
general  private  histories  of  prominent  or  wealthy 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       291 

citizens.  It  was  a  ferret  that  prowled,  prodded, 
bored,  insinuated.  It  was  utterly  lawless,  utterly 
libellous.  It  left  not  even  Launcelot  brave  nor 
Galahad  pure.  It  was  one  of  those  detestable 
opportunities  which  this  nineteenth  century,  not- 
withstanding a  thousand  evidences  of  progress, 
thrusts  into  the  hands  of  cynics  and  pessimists  to 
rail  against  the  human  nature  of  which  they  them- 
selves are  the  most  melancholy  product.  It  had 
had  suits  brought  against  it,  but  the  noble  sale  of 
its  copies  rendered  its  heroic  continuation  possible. 
Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  may  rise  again,  but  scur- 
rilous slander,  in  the  shape  of  "  The  Morning  Mon- 
itor," remained  capably  erect.  It  fed  and  throve 
on  its  own  dire  poison. 

Pauline  soon  found  herself  reading,  with  misty 
eyes  and  indignant  heart-beats,  a  ^.  •""  ^f  baleful 
biography  of  herself,  in  which  her  career,  from  her 
rash  early  marriage  until  her  recent  entertainment 
of  certain  guests,  was  mercilessly  parodied,  ridi- 
culed, vilified.  These  pages  will  not  chronicle  in 
any  unsavory  details  what  she  read.  It  was  an 
article  of  luridly  intemperate  style,  dissolute  gram- 
mar, and  gaudy  rhetoric.  It  bit  as  a  brute  bites, 
and  stung  as  a  wasp  stings,  without  other  reason 
that  that  of  low,  dull  spleen.  It  mentioned  no 
other  name  than  Kindelon's,  but  it  shot  from  that 


292       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

one  name  a  hundred  petty  shafts  of  malign  innu- 
endo. 

"  Oh,  this  is  horrible !  "  at  length  moaned  Paul- 
ine. She  flung  the  paper  down;  the  tears  had 
begun  to  stream  from  her  eyes.  "  What  shall  I 
do  against  so  hideous  an  attack  ?  " 

Courtlandt  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant.  He 
caught  her  hand,  and  the  heat  of  his  own  was  like 
that  of  fever. 

"  Do  but  one  thing !  "  he  said,  with  a  vehemence 
all  the  more  startling  because  of  his  usual  unvaried 
composure.  "  Break  away  from  this  folly  once 
and  forever !  You  know  that  I  love  you  —  that  I 
have  loved  you  for  years  !  Don't  tell  me  that  you 
don't  know  it,  for  at  the  best  you  've  only  taught 
yourself  to  forget  it !  I  've  never  said  that  I 
loved  you  before,  but  what  of  that?  You  have 
seen  the  truth  a  hundred  times  —  in  my  sober 
way  of  showing  it !  I  've  never  thought  that  you 
returned  the  feeling ;  I  don't  even  fancy  so  now. 
But  I  'm  so  fond  of  you,  Pauline,  that  I  want  you 
to  be  my  wife,  merely  liking  and  respecting  me. 
I  hate  to  shame  myself  by  even  speaking  of  your 
money,  but  you  can  sign  that  all  away  to  some 
hospital  to-morrow,  if  you  please  —  you  can  get  it 
all  together  and  throw  it  into  the  North  River,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned !  Send  Kindelon  adrift  — 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       293 

jilt  him  !  On  my  soul  I  beg  this  of  you  for  your 
own  future  happiness  more  than  anything  else ! 
I  don't  say  that  it  will  be  a  square  or  right  thing 
to  do.  But  it  will  save  you  from  the  second  hor- 
rible mistake  of  your  life !  You  made  one,  that 
death  saved  you  from.  But  this  will  be  worse. 
It  will  last  your  lifetime.  Kindelon  is  n't  of  your 
monde,  and  never  can  be.  There  is  so  much  in 
that.  I  am  not  speaking  like  a  snob.  But  he  has 
no  more  sense  of  the  proprieties,  the  nice  exter- 
nals, the  way  of  doing  all  those  thousand  trifling 
things,  which,  trifling  as  they  are,  make  up  three- 
quarters  of  actual  existence,  than  if  he  were  an 
Indian,  a  Bedouin,  or  a  gypsy !  Before  Heaven, 
Pauline,  if  I  thought  such  a  marriage  could  bring 
you  happiness,  I  'd  give  you  up  without  a  mur- 
mur I  I  'm  not  fool  enough  to  die,  or  pine,  or  even 
mope  because  of  any  woman  on  the  globe  not  car- 
ing for  me  !  But  now,  by  giving  me  the  right  to 
guard  you  —  by  making  me  so  grateful  to  you 
that  only  the  rest  of  my  life  can  fitly  show  my 
gratitude,  you  will  escape  calamity,  distress,  and 
years  of  remorse  !  " 

1  It  had  hardly  seemed  to  her,  at  first,  as  if  Court- 
landt  were  really  speaking ;  this  intensity  was  so 
entirely  uncharacteristic  of  him ;  these  rapid  tones 
and  spirited  glances  were  so  remote  from  his 


294       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

accustomed  personality.  Yet  by  degrees  she  re- 
cognized not  alone  the  quality  of  the  change,  but 
its  motive  and  source.  She  could  not  but  feel 
tenderly  toward  him  then.  She  was  a  woman, 
and  he  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her ;  this  bore 
its  inevitable  condoning  results. 

And  yet  her  voice  was  almost  stern  as  she  now 
said  to  him,  rising,  and  repelling  the  hand  by 
which  he  still  strove  to  clasp  her  own, — 

"  I  think  you  admitted  that  if  I  broke  my  en- 
gagement with  Ralph  Kindelon  it  would  not  be  — 
I  use  your  own  words,  Court  —  the  square  or  right 
thing  to  do  ...  Well,  I  shall  not  do  it !  There, 
I  hope  you  are  satisfied." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  surpassing  pain.  His 
hands,  while  they  hung  at  his  sides,  knotted  them- 
selves. "  Oh,  Pauline,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  not 
satisfied ! " 

She  met  his  look  steadily.  The  tears  in  her 
eyes  had  vanished,  though  those  already  shed 
glistened  on  her  cheeks.  "  Very  well.  I  am 
sorry.  I  love  Ralph  Kindelon.  I  mean  to  be  his 
wife." 

"  You  meant  to  be  Varick's  wife." 

"  It  is  horrible  for  you  to  bring  that  up  !  "  she 
cried.  "  Here  I  commit  no  mistake.  He  is  a  man 
of  men  !  He  loves  me,  and  I  love  him.  Do  you 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       295 

know  anything  against  him  —  outside  of  the  codes 
and  creeds  that  would  exclude  him  from  one  of 
Aunt  Cynthia's  dancing-classes?" 

"  I  know  this  against  him  ;  he  is  not  true.  He 
is  not  to  be  trusted.  He  rings  wrong.  He  is  not 
a  gentleman  —  in  the  sense  quite  outside  of  Aunt 
Cynthia's  definition." 

"  It  is  false !  "  exclaimed  Pauline,  crimsoning. 
"  Prove  to  me,"  she  went  on,  with  fleet  fire,  "  that 
he  is  not  true  —  not  to  be  trusted.  I  dare  you  to 
prove  it." 

He  walked  slowly  toward  the  door.  "  It  is  an 
intuition,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  prove  it.  I  could  as 
soon  tell  you  who  wrote  that  villainous  thing  in 
the  newspaper  there." 

Pauline  gave  a  laugh  of  coldest  contempt. 
"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  in  a  moment  more  you  will  be 
saying  that  he  wrote  it !  " 

Courtlandt  shook  his  head.  The  gesture  con- 
veyed, in  some  way,  an  excessive  and  signal  sad- 
ness. 

"  In  a  moment  more,"  he  answered,  "  I  shall  be 
saying  nothing  to  you.  And  I  don't  know  that  I 
shall  ever  willingly  come  into  your  presence  again. 
Good-by." 

Pauline  gave  no  answer,  sinking  back  into  her 
seat  as  he  disappeared. 


296        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

Her  eye  lighted  upon  the  fallen  newspaper  while 
she  did  so.  Its  half-cruinpled  folds  made  her  for- 
get that  her  cousin  was  departing.  She  suddenly 
sprang  up  again,  and  caught  the  sheet  from  the 
floor.  A  fire  was  blazing  near  by.  She  hurried 
toward  the  grate,  intending  to  destroy  the  printed 
abomination. 

But,  pausing  half-way,  she  once  more  burst  into 
tears.  A  recollection  cut  her  to  the  heart  of  how 
futile  would  be  any  attempt,  now,  to  destroy  the 
atrocious  wrong  itself.  That  must  live  and  work 
its  unmerited  ill. 

"  And  to  this  dark  ending,"  she  thought,  with 
untold  dejection,  "  has  come  my  perfectly  honest 
ambition  —  my  fair  and  proper  and  wholesome 
plan !  "  And  then,  abruptly,  her  tearful  eyes  be- 
gan to  sparkle,  while  a  bright,  mirthless  smile 
touched  her  lips. 

"  But  I  can  at  least  have  my  retort,"  she  decided. 
"  He  will  help  me  —  stand  by  me  in  this  miserable 
emergency.  I  will  send  for  him,  —  yes,  I  will  send 
for  Ralph  at  once !  He  will  do  just  as  I  dictate, 
and  I  know  what  I  shall  dictate !  Miss  Cragge 
wrote  that  base  screed,  and  Miss  Cragge  shall 
suffer  accordingly  I " 


XIV. 

O  HE  sent  for  Kindelon  at  once,  but  before  her 
message  could  possibly  have  reached  the  office 
of  the  "  Asteroid,"  he  presented  himself. 

He  had  recently  seen  the  article,  and  told  her  so 
with  a  lover-like  tenderness  that  she  found  bal- 
samic, if  not  precisely  curative. 

"  It  is  fiendish,"  he  at  length  said,  "  and  if  I 
thought  any  man  had  done  it  I  would  thrash  him 
into  confessing  so.  But  I  am  nearly  sure  that  a 
woman  did  it." 

"  Miss  Cragge  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  can't  thrash  her,  Ralph.  But  you  can 
punish  her." 

"How?" 

"Through  your  own  journal  —  the  'Asteroid.' 
You  can  show  the  world  just  what  a  virago 
she  is." 

"  No,"  he  replied,  after  a  reflective  pause,  "  that 
can't  be." 

"  Can't  be  !  "  exclaimed  Pauline,  almost  hysteri- 

297 


298        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

cally  reproachful.  "The  'Asteroid'  can  call  the 
'  Herald,'  the  '  Times '  and  the  '  Tribune  '  every 
possible  bad  name;  it  can  fly  at  the  throats  of 
politicians  whom  it  doesnrt  indorse;  it  can  seethe 
and  hiss  like  a  witch's  caldron  in  editorials  about 
some  recent  regretted  measure  at  Alban}r !  But 
when  I  ask  it  to  defend  me  against  slanderous 
ridicule  it  refuses  —  it " — 

"  Ah,"  cried  Kindelon,  interrupting  her,  "  it  re- 
fuses because  it  is  powerless  to  defend  you." 

"  Powerless ! " 

"  Qui  ^excuse  s'accuse.  Any  attempted  vindi- 
cation would  be  merely  to  direct  the  public  eye 
still  more  closely  upon  this  matter.  All  evil 
things  hold'  within  themselves  the  germ  of  their 
own  destruction.  Let  this  villainy  die  a  natural 
death,  Pauline;  to  fight  it  will  be  to  perpetuate 
its  power.  In  the  meanwhile  I  can  probably  gain 
a  clue  to  its  authorship.  But  I  do  not  promise, 
mind.  No,  I  do  not  promise  !  " 

"And  this  is  all!"  faltered  Pauline.  "Oh, 
Ralph,  according  to  your  argument,  every  known 
wrong  should  be  endured  because  of  the  notoriety 
which  attaches  to  the  redressing  of  it." 

He  looked  very  troubled  and  very  compassionate 
as  he  answered  her.  "  The  notoriety  is  in  many 
cases  of  no  importance,  my  love.  If  I  were 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       299 

coarsely  assailed,  for  instance,  I  should  not  hesi- 
tate to  openly  confront  my  assailant.  But  with  a 
pure  woman  it  is  different;  and  with  some  pure 
women — yourself  I  quote  as  a  most  shining  ex- 
ample of  these  latter  —  it  is  unspeakably  different  I 
The  chastity  of  some  names  is  so  perfect  that  any 
touch  whatever  will  soil  it." 

"  If  so,  then  mine  has  been  soiled  already ! " 
cried  Pauline.  "Oh,"  she  went  on,  "you  men 
are  all  alike  toward  us  women !  Our  worst  crime 
is  that  you  yourselves  should  talk  about  us !  To 
have  your  fellow-men  say,  '  This  woman  has  been 
rendered  the  object  of  a  scandalous  insult,  but  has 
retaliated  with  courage,'  is  to  make  her  seem  in 
your  eyes  as  if  the  insult  were  really  a  deserved 
one !  Whenever  we  are  prominent,  except  in  a 
social  way,  we  are  called  notorious.  If  our  hus- 
bands are  drunkards  or  brutes  who  abuse  us,  and 
we  fly  to  the  refuge  of  the  divorce-court,  we  are 
notorious.  If  we  go  on  the  stage,  no  matter  how 
well  we  may  guard  our  honest  womanhood  there, 
we  are  notorious.  If  we  turn  ministers,  doctors, 
lecturers,  philanthropists,  political  agitators,  it  is 
all  the  same;  we  are  observed,  discussed,  criti- 
cised ;  hence  we  are  notorious.  Now,  I  've  never 
rebslled  against  this  finely  just  system,  though 
like  nearly  all  other  yoked  human  beings  I  have 


300       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

indulged  certain  private  views  upon  my  own  bond- 
age. And  in  my  case  it  was  hardly  a  bondage. 
.  .  .  Except  for  certain  years  where  discontent 
was  in  a  large  measure  remorse,  I  have  been  lifted 
by  exceptional  circumstance  above  those  pangs 
and  torments  which  I  have  felt  certain  must  have 
beset  many  another  woman  through  no  act  of 
her  own.  But  now  an  occasion  suddenly  dawns 
when  I  find  myself  demanding  a  man's  full  jus- 
tice. To  tell  me  that  I  can't  get  it  because  I 
am  a  woman  is  no  answer  whatever.  I  want  it, 
all  the  same." 

Kindelon  gazed  at  her  with  a  sort  of  woe-begone 
amazement.  "  I  don't  tell  you  that  you  can't  get 
it,  as  far  as  it  is  to  be  had,"  he  almost  groaned. 
"  I  merely  remind  you  that  this  is  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  neither  the  twentieth  nor  the  twenty- 
first." 

Pauline  gave  a  fierce  little  motion  of  her  shapely 
head.  "  I  am  reminded  of  that  nearly  every  day 
that  I  live,"  she  retorted.  "  You  fall  back,  of 
course,  upon  public  opinion.  All  of  you  always 
do,  where  a  woman  is  concerned,  whenever  you 
are  cornered.  And  it  is  so  easy  to  corner  you  — 
to  make  you  swing  at  us  this  cudgel  of  '  domes- 
tic retirement '  and  '  feminine  modesty.'  I  once 
talked  for  two  hours  in  Paris  with  one  of  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       301 

strongest  French  radical  thinkers  of  modern  times. 
For  the  first  hour  and  a  half  he  delighted  me ;  he 
spoke  of  the  immense  things  that  modern  scientific 
developments  were  doing  for  the  human  race. 
For  the  last  half-hour  he  disgusted  me.  And 
why  ?  I  discovered  that  his  '  human  race  '  meant 
a  race  entirely  masculine.  He  left  woman  out  of 
the  question  altogether.  She  might  get  along  the 
best  way  she  could.  When  he  spoke  of  his  own 
sex  he  was  superbly  broad ;  when  he  spoke  of  ours 
he  was  narrower  than  any  Mohammedan  with  a 
harem  full  of  wives  and  a  prospective  Paradise 
full  of  subservient  houris." 

Kindelon  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor, 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  "Well,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  mild  distraction,  "  I  'm  very 
sorry  for  your  famous  French  thinker.  I  hope 
you  don't  want  me  to  tell  you  that  I  sympathize 
with  him." 

"  I  'm  half  inclined  to  believe  it ! "  sped  Paul- 
ine. "  If  my  cousin  Courtlandt  had  spoken  as 
you  have  done,  I  should  have  accepted  such  ideas 
as  perfectly  natural.  Courtlandt  is  the  incarna- 
tion of  conventionalism.  He  is  part  of  the  rush  in 
our  social  wheelwork,  and  yet  he  makes  it  move 
more  slowly.  He  could  no  more  pull  up  his  win- 
dow-shades and  let  in  fresh  sunshine  than  you 


302       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW, 

could  close  your  shutters  and  live  in  his  decorous 
demijour  !" 

Kindeloii  still  continued  his  impatient  pacing. 
"  I'm  very  glad  of  your  favorable  comparison,"  he 
said,  with  more  sadness  than  satire.  He  abruptly 
paused,  then,  facing  Pauline.  "  What  is  it,  in 
Heaven's  name,  that  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  should  not  ask  ;  you  should  know  !  "  she 
exclaimed.  Her  clear-glistening  eyes,  her  flushed 
cheeks,  and  the  assertive,  almost  imperious  posture 
of  her  delicate  figure  made  her  seem  to  him  a 
rarely  beautiful  vision  as  he  now  watched  her. 
"  Reflect,  pray  reflect,"  she  quickly  proceeded, 
"  upon  the  position  in  which  I  now  stand !  I  at- 
tempted to  do  what  if  I  had  been  a  much  better 
woman  than  I  am  it  would  not  at  all  have  been  a 
blameworthy  thing  to  do.  The  result  was  failure; 
it  was  failure  through  no  fault  of  my  own.  I 
found  myself  in  a  clique  of  wrangling  egotists, 
and  not  in  a  body  of  sensible  co-operative  sup- 
porters. Chief  among  these  was  Miss  Cragge, 
whose  repulsive  traits  I  foresaw  —  or  rather  you 
aided  me  to  foresee  them.  I  omitted  her  from  my 
banquet  (very  naturally  and  properly,  I  maintain), 
and  this  is  the  apple  of  discord  that  she  has 
thrown."  Here  Pauline  pointed  to  the  fatal  news- 
paper, which  lay  not  far  off.  "  Of  course,"  she 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       303 

went  on,  with  a  very  searching  look  at  Kindelon, 
"  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Miss  Cragge  is  the 
offender!  I,  for  my  part,  am  certain  of  it;  you, 
for  yours,  are  certain  as  well,  unless  I  greatly  err. 
But  this  makes  your  refusal  to  publicly  chastise 
her  insolence  all  the  more  culpable !  " 

"  Culpable  !  "  he  echoed,  hurrying  toward  her. 
"  Pauline  !  you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying  ! 
Have  I  the  least  pity,  the  least  compunction  to- 
ward that  woman  ?  " 

Pauline  closed  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  and 
shook  her  head,  with  a  repulsing  gesture  of  one 
hand.  "  Then  you  have  a  very  false  pity  toward 
another  woman  —  and  a  very  false  compunction 
as  well,"  she  answered. 

"How  can  I  act,  situated  as  I  am?"  he  cried, 
with  sharp  excitement.  "  You  have  not  yet  al- 
lowed our  engagement  to  transpire.  What  visible 
or  conceded  rights  have  I  to  be  your  defender  ?  " 

"  You  are  unjust,"  she  said.  .  "  I  give  you  every 
right.  That  article  insinuates  that  I  am  a  sort  of 
high-bred  yet  low-toned  adventuress.  No  lad// 
could  feel  anything  but  shame  and  indignation  at 
it.  Besides,  it  incessantly  couples  your  name  with 
mine.  .  .  .  And  as  for  right  to  be  my  champion  in 
exposing  and  rebuking  this  outrage,  I  —  I  give  you 
every  right,  as  I  said." 


304        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW, 

"  I  desire  but  one,"  returned  Kindelon.  His 
voice  betrayed  no  further  perturbation.  He  seated 
himself  at  her  side,  and  almost  by  force  took  both 
her  hands  in  the  strong  grasp  of  both  his  own. 

"  What  right  ?  "  she  questioned.  Her  mood  of 
accusation,  of  reproach,  was  not  yet  quieted;  her 
eyes  still  sparkled  from  it;  her  restless  lips  still 
betrayed  it. 

"  The  right,"  he  answered,  "  of  calling  you  my 
wife.  As  it  is,  what  am  I  ?  A  man  far  below  you 
in  all  worldly  place,  who  has  gained  from  you  a 
matrimonial  promise.  Marry  me  !  —  marry  me  at 
once  !  — to-morrow !  —  and  everything  will  be  dif- 
ferent !  Then  you  shall  have  become  mine  to  de- 
fend, and  I  will  show  you  how  I  can  defend  what 
is  my  own  !  " 

"  To-morrow !  "  murmured  Pauline. 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  !  You  will  say  it  is  too  soon. 
You  will  urge  conventionalism  now,  though  a  min- 
ute ago  you  accused  me  of  urging  it !  When  you 
are  once  my  wife  I  shall  feel  empowered  to  law- 
fully befriend  you ! " 

"  Lawfully ! "  she  repeated.  "  Can  you  not  do 
so  manfully,  as  it  is  ?  " 

"No  —  not  without  the  interfering  claims  and 
assertions  of  your  family  !  " 

"  I  have  no  real  family.     And  those  whom  you 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       305 

call  such  are  without  the  right  of  either  claim  or 
assertion,  as  regards  any  question  of  what  I  choose 
or  do  not  choose  to  do  ! " 

He  still  retained  her  hands;  he  put  his  lips 
against  her  cheek;  he  would  not  let  her  with- 
draw, though  she  made  a  kind  of  aggrieved  effort 
to  do  so. 

"  They  have  no  rights,  Pauline,  and  yet  they 
would  overwhelm  me  with  obloquy!  As  your 
husband  —  once  as  your  wedded,  chosen  husband, 
what  should  I  care  for  them  all  ?  I  would  laugh 
at  them !  Make  it  to-morrow !  Then  see  how  I 
will  play  my  wife's  part,  and  fight  her  battle ! " .  .  . 

They  talked  for  some  time  after  this  in  lowered 
tones  .  .  .  Pauline  was  in  a  wholly  new  mood 
when  she  at  length  said,  — 

"  To-morrow,  then,  if  you  choose." 

"  You  mean  it  ?     You  promise  it  ?  " 

"  I  mean  it  —  and  I  promise  it,  since  you  seem 
so  doubtful." 

"  I  am  doubtful,"  he  exclaimed,  kissing  her, 
"  because  I  can  scarcely  dream  that  this  sudden 
happiness  has  fallen  to  me  from  the  stars !  "  .  .  . 

When  he  had  left  her,  and  she  was  quite  alone, 
Pauline  found  her  lips  murmuring  over  the  words, 
in  a  sort  of  mechanical  repetition :  "  I  have  prom- 
ised to  marry  him  to-morrow." 


306        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

She  had  indeed  made  this  vow,  and  as  a  very 
sacred  erne.  And  the  more  that  she  reflected  upon 
it  the  more  thoroughly  praiseworthy  a  course  it 
seemed.  Her  nearest  living  relations  were  the 
Poughkeepsies  and  Courtlandt.  She  had  quar- 
relled with  both  —  or  it  meant  nearly  the  same 
thing.  There  was  no  one  left  to  consult.  Besides, 
even  if  there  had  been,  why  should  she  consult 
any  third  party  in  this  affair,  momentous  though 
it  was  ?  She  loved ;  she  was  beloved.  She  was 
a  widow  with  a  great  personal,  worldly  indepen- 
dence. She  had  already  been  assailed;  what  mat- 
tered a  little  more  assailance  ?  For  most  of  those 
who  would  gossip  and  sneer  she  had  a  profound 
and  durable  contempt  -.  .  .  Why,  then,  should  she 
regret  her  spoken  word  ? 

And  yet  she  found  herself  not  so  much  regret- 
ting it  as  fearing  lest  she  might  regret  it.  She 
suddenly  felt  the  need,  and  in  keenest  way,  of  a 
near  confidential,  trustworthy  friend.  But  her 
long  residence  abroad  had  acted  alienatingly 
enough  toward  all  earlier  American  friendships. 
She  could  think  of  twenty  women  —  married,  or 
widows  like  herself  —  who  would  have  received 
her  solicited  counsel  with  every  apparent  sign  of 
sympathy.  But  with  all  these  she  had  lost  the 
old  intimate  sense  ;  new  ground  must  be  broken 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       307 

in  dealing  with  them  ;  their  views  and  creeds  were 
what  her  own  had  been  when  she  had  known  and 
prattled  platitudes  with  them  before  her  dolorous 
marriage  :  or  at  least  she  so  chose  to  think,  so 
chose  to  decide. 

"  There  is  one  whom  I  could  seek,  and  with 
whom  I  could  seriously  discuss  the  advisability  of 
such  a  speedy  marriage,"  at  length  ran  Pauline's 
reflections.  "  That  one  is  Mrs.  Dares.  Her  large, 
sweet,  just  mind  would  be  quite  equal  to  telling 
me  if  I  am  really  wrong  or  right  .  .  .  Still,  there 
is  an  obstacle  —  her  daughter,  Cora.  Yet  that 
would  make  no  difference  with  Mrs.  Dares.  She 
would  be  above  even  a  maternal  prejudice.  She  is 
all  gentle  equity  and  disinterested  kindliness.  I 
might  see  her  alone  —  quite  alone  —  this  evening. 
Neither  Cora  nor  the  sister,  Martha,  need  know 
anything.  I  would  pledge  her  to  secrecy  before  I 
spoke  a  word  ...  I  will  go  to  her !  I  will  go  to 
Mrs.  Dares,  and  will  ask  her  just  what  I  ought  to 
do." 

This  resolve  strengthened  with  Pauline  after  she 
had  once  made  it.  The  hour  was  now  somewhat 
late  in  the  afternoon.  She  distrusted  the  time  of 
Mrs.  Dares's  arrival  up-town  from  her  work,  and 
decided  that  the  visit  had  best  be  paid  at  about 
seven  o'clock  that  same  evening. 


308        THE   ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

A  little  later  she  was  amazed  to  receive  the  card 
of  Mr.  Barrowe.  She  went  into  her  reception- 
room  to  see  this  gentleman,  with  mingled  amuse- 
ment and  awkwardness ;  she  was  so  ignorant  what 
fatality  had  landed  him  within  her  dwelling. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  greet  you,  Mr.  Bar- 
rowe," she  said,  after  giving  a  hand  to  her  guest. 
"  You  and  I  parted  by  no  means  peacefully  last 
night,  and  I  —  I  am  (yes,  I  confess  it !)  somewhat 
unprepared  "... 

At  this  point  Mr.  Barrowe  made  voluble  inter- 
ruption. His  little  twinkling  eyes  looked  smaller 
and  acuter  than  before,  and  his  gaunt,  spheroidal 
nose  had  an  unusual  pallor  as  it  rose  from  his 
somewhat  depressed  cheeks. 

"  You  need  n't  say  you  are  unprepared,  Mrs. 
Varick !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  am  unprepared  my- 
self. I  had  no  idea  of  visiting  you  this  afternoon. 
I  had  no  idea  that  you  would  again  give  me  the 
pleasure  of  receiving  me.  Handicapped  as  I  am, 
myself,  by  visits,  letters,  applications,  mercantile 
matters,  I  have  insisted,  however,  on  getting  rid  of 
all — yes,  all  trammels." 

Here  Mr.  Barrowe  paused,  and  Pauline  gently 
inclined  her  head,  saying,  — 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you.     Pray  proceed." 

"Proceed I"  cried  Mr.  Barrowe.     He  had  al- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       309 

ready  seated  himself,  but  he  now  rose,  approached 
Pauline,  took  her  hand,  and  with  an  extravagant 
gallantry  which  his  lank  body  caused  closely  to 
verge  upon  the  ludicrous,  lifted  this  hand  cere- 
moniously to  his  pale  lips.  Immediately  afterward 
he  resumed  his  seat.  And  at  once  he  recom- 
menced speaking. 

"  I  feel  that  I  —  I  owe  you  the  most  profound 
of  apologies,"  he  declared,  with  a  hesitation  that 
seemed  to  have  a  sincere  emotional  origin.  "Handi- 
capped as  I  am  by  a  hundred  other  matters,  be- 
sieged as  I  am  by  bores  who  want  my  autograph, 
by  people  who  desire  me  to  write  for  this  or  that 
journal,  by  people  who  desire  consultation  with 
me  on  countless  literary  or  even  commercial  sub- 
jects, I  nevertheless  have  felt  it  a  question  of  con- 
science to  pay  you  this  visit." 

"  A  question  of  conscience  ? "  said  Pauline, 
suavely. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Varick.  I  —  I  have  seen  that  strin- 
gently objectionable  article  in  the  .  .  .  ahem  .  .  . 
the  '  Morning  Monitor.'  May  I  ask  if  you  also 
have  seen  it  ?  And  pray  be  sure  that  when  I  thus 
ask  I  feel  confident  you  must  have  seen  it,  since 
bad  tidings  travel  quickly,  and  "... 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Barrowe,  I  have  seen  it,"  said  Paul- 
ine, interrupting  another  thin,  diplomatic  sort  of 


310       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

cough  on  the  part  of  her  visitor.  "  And  I  should 
be  glad  if  you  could  tell  me  what  devoted  foe 
wrote  it." 

Mr.  Barrowe  now  trembled  with  eagerness. 
"I  —  I  can  tell  you!"  he  exclaimed.  l-  It — it 
was  that  unhappy  Miss  Cragge  !  I  had  in >  sooner 
read  it,  in  my  office  this  morning,  than  1  was  at- 
tacked by  a  conviction  —  an  absolute  conviction 
—  that  she  wrote  it.  Handicapped,  besieged  as 
I  am  .  .  .  but  let  that  pass  "... 

"Yes  —  let  that  pass,"  softly  cried  Pauline, 
meaning  no  discourtesy,  yet  bent  upon  reaching 
the  bare  fact  and  proof.  "  You  say  that  you  are 
sure  that  Miss  Cragge  wrote  the  article  ?  " 

"  Positively  certain,"  asseverated  Mr.  Barrowe. 
"  I  went  to  the  lady  at  once.  I  found  her  at  her 
desk  in  the  office  of  —  well,  let  us  not  mind  ivhat 
newspaper.  I  upbraided  her  with  having  written 
it !  I  was  very  presumptuous,  perhaps  —  very  dic- 
tatorial, but  I  did  not  care.  I  had  stood  up  for 
the  lady,  not  many  evenings  ago,  at  the  risk  of 
your  displeasure." 

"  The  lady  !  "  repeated  Pauline,  half  under  her 
breath,  and  with  a  distinct  sneer.  "  Go  on,  please, 
Mr.  Barrowe.  Did  Miss  Cragge  confess?" 

"  Miss  Cragge  did  not  confess.  But  she  showed 
such  a  defiant  tendency  not  to  confess  --  she 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       311 

treated  me  with  such  an  overbearing  pugnacious- 
ness  and  disdain,  that  before  I  had  been  five 
minutes  in  her  society  I  had  no  doubts  whatever 
as  to  the  real  authorship  of  the  shocking  article. 
And  now,  Mrs.  Varick,  I  wish  to  offer  you  my 
most  humble  and  deferential  apologies.  I  wish  to 
tell  you  how  deeply  and  sincerely  sorry  I  am  for 
ever  having  entered  into  the  least  controversy 
with  you  regarding  that  most  aggressive  and  veno- 
mous female  !  For,  my  dear  madam,  besieged  and 
handicapped  though  I  may  be  by  countless  "... 

"  Don't  offer  me  a  word  of  apology,  Mr.  Bar- 
rowe  !  "  here  struck  in  Pauline,  jumping  up  from 
her  seat  and  seizing  the  hand  of  her  guest.  "  It 
is  quite  needless !  I  owe  you  more  than  you  owe 
me !  You  have  told  me  the  name  of  my  enemy, 
of  which  I  was  nearly  certain  all  along."  And 
here  Pauline  gave  the  gentleman's  bony  and  ca- 
daverous face  one  of  those  glances  which  those 
who  liked  her  best  thought  the  most  charming. 

"  I  had  been  told,"  she  went  on,  with  a  very 
winning  intonation,  "  that  you  have  a  large,  warm 
heart!" 

"  Who  —  who  told  you  that  ?  "  murmured  Mr. 
Barrowe,  evidently  under  the  spell  of  his  hostess's 
beauty  and  grace. 

"  Mr.  Kindelon,"  Pauline  said,  gently. 


312        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  Kindelon  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Barrowe,  "  why  he 
is  my  worst  enemy,  as  —  as  I  fear,  my  dear  madam, 
that  Miss  Cragge  is  yours  !  " 

"Oh,  never  mind  Miss  Cragge,"  said  Pauline, 
with  a  sweet,  quick  laugh ;  "  and  never  mind  Mr. 
Kindelon,  either.  I  have  only  to  talk  about  you, 
Mr.  Barrowe,  and  to  tell  you  that  I  have  never  yet 
met  a  good,  true  man  (for  I  am  certain  that  you  are 
such)  who  stood  in  his  own  light  so  persistently 
as  you  do.  You  have  an  immense  talent  for 
quarrelling,"  she  went  on,  with  pretty  seriousness. 
"  Neglect  it  —  crush  it  down  —  be  yourself ! 
Yourself  is  a  very  honest  and  agreeable  self  to  be. 
I  am  always  on  the  side  of  people  with  good  in- 
tentions, and  I  am  sure  that  yours  are  of  the  best. 
A  really  bitter-hearted  man  ruffles  people,  and  so 
do  you.  But  your  motives  for  it  are  as  different 
from  his  as  malice  is  different  from  dyspepsia.  I 
am  sure  you  are  going  to  reform  from  this  hour." 

"  Reform  ?  "  echoed  Mr.  Barrowe. 

Pauline  gave  a  laugh  of  silver  clearness  and 
heartiest  mirth.  As  often  happens  with  us  when 
we  are  most  assailed  by  care,  she  forgot  all  present 
misery  for  at  least  the  space  of  a  minute  or  so. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried,  with  a  bewitching  glee  quite 
her  own  and  by  no  means  lost  upon  her  somewhat 
susceptible  listener,  "you  are  going  to  conform 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       313 

the  Mr.  Barruwe  of  real  life  to  the  Mr.  Barrowe 
who  writes  those  brilliant,  judicial,  and  trenchant 
essays.  Oh,  I  have  read  them !  You  need  not 
fancy  that  I  am  talking  mere  foundationless  flat- 
tery such  as  you  doubtless  get  from  many  of  those 
people  who  .  .  .  well,  who  handicap  you,  you 
know  .  .  .  And  your  reformation  is  to  begin  at 
once.  I  am  to  be  your  master.  I  have  a  lot  of 
lessons  to  teach  ! " 

"  When  are  your  instructions  to  begin  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Barrowe,  with  a  certain  awkward  yet  positive 
gallantry.  "  I  am  very  anxious  to  receive  them." 

"  Your  first  intimation  of  them  will  be  a  request 
to  dine  with  me.  Will  you  accept?  —  you  and 
your  wife  of  course/' 

"But  my  wife  is  an  invalid.  She  never  goes 
anywhere." 

"  I  hope,  however,  that  she  sometimes  dines." 

"  Yes,  she  dines,  poor  woman  .  .  .  incidentally." 

"  Then  she  will  perhaps  give  me  an  incidental 
invitation  to  break  bread  .  .  .  Oh,  my  dear  Mr. 
Barrowe,  what  I  mean  is  simply  that  I  want  to 
know  you  better,  and  so  acquire  the  right  to  tell 
you  of  a  few  superficial  faults  which  prevent 
all  the  world  from  recognizing  your  kindly  soul. 
I  ..." 

But  here  Pauline  paused,  for  a  servant  entered 


314       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW, 

with  a  card.  She  glanced  at  the  card,  and  made 
an  actually  doleful  grimace. 

"Mr.  Leander  Prawle  is  here,"  she  said  to  her 
visitor. 

Mr.  Barrowe  gave  a  start.  "  In  that  case  I  must 
go,"  he  said.  "I  once  spoke  ill  of  that  young 
gentleman's  most  revered  poem,  and  since  then  he 
has  never  deigned  to  notice  me." 

"  But  you  will  not  forget  the  dinner,  and  what 
is  to  follow,"  said  Pauline,  as  she  shook  hands. 

"  No,"  Mr.  Barrowe  protested.  "  If  3-011  cleave 
my  heart  in  twain  I  shall  try  to  live  the  better 
with  the  other  half  of  it." 

"I  should  not  like  to  cleave  it  in  twain,"  said 
Pauline.  "It  is  too  capable  and  healthy  a  heart 
for  that.  I  should  only  try  to  make  it  beat  with 
more  temperate  strokes  .  .  Au  revoir,  then.  If  you 
should  meet  Mr.  Prawle  outside,  tell  him  that  you 
are  sorry." 

"  Sorry  ?     But  his  poem  was  abominable  !  " 

"All  the  more  reason  for  you  to  be  magnani- 
mously sorry  .  .  Ah,  here  he  is ! " 

Here  Mr.  Leander  Prawle  indeed  was,  but  as 
he  entered  the  room  Mr.  Barrowe  slipped  past 
him,  and  with  a  suddenness  that  almost  prevented 
his  identification  on  the  part  of  the  new-comer  .  . 

"Mrs.    Varick,"    exclaimed    Leander    Prawle, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       315 

while  he  pressed  the  hand  of  his  hostess.  "I 
came  here  because  duty  prompted  me  to  come." 

"I  hope  pleasure  had  a  little  to  do  with  the 
matter,  Mr.  Prawle,"  said  Pauline,  while  indicat- 
ing a  lounge  on  which  they  were  both  presently 
seated. 

Mr.  Prawle  looked  just  as  pale  as  when  Pauline 
had  last  seen  him,  just  as  dark-haired,  and  just  as 
dark-eyed ;  but  the  ironical  fatigue  had  somehow 
left  his  visage  ;  there  was  a  totally  new  expression 
there. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  began,  with  his  black  eyes  very 
fixedly  directed  upon  Pauline's  face,  "  that  you 
have  heard  of  the  .  .  the  '  Morning  Monitor's ' 
outrageous  ..." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Prawle,"  Pauline  broke  in.  "I  have 
heard  all  about  it." 

"  And  it  has  pained  you  beyond  expression !  " 
murmured  the  young  poet.  "  It  must  have  done 
so!" 

"Naturally,"  replied  Pauline. 

"It  .  .  it  has  made  me  suffer !  "  asserted  the 
new  visitor,  laying  one  slim,  white  hand  upon  the 
region  of  his  heart. 

"  Really  ?  "  was  the  answer.  "  That  is  very 
nice  and  sympathetic  of  you." 

Mr.  Prawle  regarded  her  with  an  unrelaxed  and 


316        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

very  fervid  scrutiny.  He  now  spoke  in  lowered. 
an4  emotional  tones,  leaning  toward  his  hearer 
so  that  his  slender  body  made  quite  an  exagger- 
ated curve. 

"My  whole  soul,"  he  said,  "is  brimming  with 
sympathy ! " 

Pauline  conquered  her  amazement  at  this  en- 
tirely unforeseen  outburst. 

"Thanks  very  much,"  she  returned.  "Sym- 
pathy is  always  a  pleasant  thing  to  receive." 

Mr.  Prawle,  still  describing  his  physical  curve, 
gave  a  great  sigh.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Varick,"  he  mur- 
mured, "  I  should  like  to  kill  the  man  who  wrote 
that  horrible  article." 

"  Suppose  it  were  a  woman,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  kill  the  woman !  .  . 
Mrs.  Varick,  will  you  pardon  me  if  I  read  you 

.  .  a  few  lines  which  indignation   com yes, 

combined   with    reverence  —  actual   reverence  — 
inspired  me  to  write  after  reading  those  disgrace- 
ful statements?     The   lines   are  —  are  addressed 
to  yourself.      With  —  with  your  permission,  I- 
I  will  draw  them  forth." 

Without  any  permission  on  Pauline's  part. 
however,  Mr.  Prawle  now  drew  forth  the  manu- 
script to  which  he  had  referred.  His  long 
pale  fingers  underwent  a  distinct  tremor  as  he 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       817 

unrolled  a  large  crackling  sheet  of  foolscap.  And 
then,  when  all,  so  to  speak,  was  ready,  he  swept 
his  dark  eyes  over  Pauline's  attentive  coun- 
tenance. "  Have  I  your  permission  ?  "  he  falter- 
ingly  inquired. 

"  It  is  granted,  certainly,  Mr.  Pravvle." 
After  "a  slight  pause,  and  in  a  tone  of  sepul- 
chrally  monotonous  quality,  the  young  gentleman 
read  these  lines :  — 

"  White  soul,  what  impious  voice  hath  dared  to  blame 
With  virulent  slander  thine  unsullied  life  ? 
Methinks  that  nosv  the  very  stars  should  blush 
In  their  chaste  silver  stateliness  aloft  ! 
Methinks  the  immaculate  lilies  should  droop  low 
For  very  shame  at  this  coarse  obloquy, 
The  unquarried  marble  of  Pentelicus 
Deny  its  hue  of  snow,  and  even  the  dawn 
Forget  her  stainless  birthright  for  thy  sake  ! 
Cursed  the  hand  that  wrote  of  thee  such  wrong; 
Cursed  the  pen  such  hand  hath  basely  clasped ; 
Cursed  the  actual  ink  whose  ..." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Prawle !  "  exclaimed  Pauline,  at 
this  point ;  "  I  must  beg  you  not  to  make  me  the 
cause  of  so  terrible  a  curse !  Indeed,  I  cannot 
sanction  it.  I  must  ask  you  to  read  no  more." 

She  was  wholly  serious.  She  forgot  to  look 
upon  the  humorous  side  of  Mr.  Prawle's  action ; 
his  poem,  so  called,  addressed  her  jarred  nerves 


318        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

and  wounded  spirit  as  a  piece  of  aggravating  im- 
pudence. The  whole  event  of  his  visit  seemed 
like  a  final  jeer  from  the  sarcastic  episode  recently 
ended. 

He  regarded  her  now  witli  a  sorrowful  astonish- 
ment. "You  —  you  wish  rue  to  read  no  more!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  if  you  please,"  said  Pauline,  controlling 
her  impatience  as  best  she  could. 

"  But  I  —  I  wrote  it  especially  for  you ! "  he 
proceeded.  "  I  have  put  my  soul  into  it !  I  con- 
sider it  in  many  ways  the  most  perfect  thing  that 
I  have  ever  done.  I  intended  to  include  it  in  my 
forthcoming  volume,  '  Moonbeams  and  Mountain- 
Peaks,'  under  the  title  of  '  Her  Vindication.' 
Even  the  grossly  material  poetic  mind  of  Arthur 
Trevor,  to  whom  I  read  it  a  few  hours  ago,  ad- 
mitted its  sublimity,  its  spirituality !  " 

"  I  will  admit  both,  also,"  said  Pauline,  whose 
mood  grew  less  and  less  tolerant  of  this  self-poised 
fatuity.  "  Only,  I  must  add,  Mr.  Prawle,  that  it 
would  have  been  better  taste  for  you  to  haAre  left 
this  exasperating  affair  untouched  by  your  some- 
what saintly  muse.  And  I  shall  furthermore  re- 
quest that  you  do  not  include  the  lines  in  your 
'  Moonbeams  and  Hill-Tops,'  or  "  — 

"  Mountain-Peaks !  "  corrected  Mr.  Prawle,  ris- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       319 

ing  with  a  visible  shudder.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Varick," 
he  went  on,  "I  see  with  great  pain  that  you  are 
a  most  haughty  and  ungenerous  lady !  You  — 
you  have  smitten  me  with  a  fearful  disappoint- 
ment !  I  came  here  brimming  with  the  loftiest 
human  sympathy !  I  believed  that  to-day  would 
be  a  turning-point  in  my  existence.  I  confidently 
trusted  that  after  hearing  my  poem  there  would 
be  no  further  obstacle  in  my  career  of  great- 
ness ! " 

Pauline  now  slowly  left  her  seat.  Unhappy  as 
she  was,  there  could  be  no  resisting  such  mag- 
nificent opportunities  of  amusement  as  were  now 
presented  to  her. 

"  Your  career  of  greatness  ?  "  she  quietly  re- 
peated. "  Did  I  hear  you  properly,  Mr.  Prawle  ?  " 

Her  guest  was  refolding  his  manuscript  with  an 
aggrieved  and  perturbed  air.  As  he  put  the  paper 
within  a  breast-pocket  he  rolled  his  dark  eyes 
toward  Pauline  with  infinite  solemnity. 

'"You  doubt,  then,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  I  am 
born  to  be  great  —  supremely  great  ?  Ah,  there 
is  no  need  for  me  to  put  that  question  now!  I 
had  thought  otherwise  before  .  .  when  you  smiled 
upon  me,  when  you  seemed  to  have  read  my  poems, 
to  be  familiar  with  my  growing  fame  !  " 

"You  mistake,"  said  Pauline.     " I  never  meant 


320        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW. 

to  show  you  that  I  had  read  your  poems.  If  I 
smiled  upon  you,  Mr.  Prawle,  it  was  from  courtesy 
only." 

"  Horrible  !  "  ejaculated  the  young  poet.  He 
clasped  his  hands  together  in  a  somewhat  theatri- 
cally despairing  way,  and  for  an  instant  lowered 
his  head.  "I  —  I  thought  that  you  were  pre- 
pared to  indorse,  to  assist  my  genius ! "  he  soon 
proceeded,  levelling  a  look  of  strong  appeal  at 
Pauline.  "  I  thought  that  you  had  separated  my 
poetic  veracity  from  the  sham  of  Trevor  and 
Corson  !  I  —  I  thought,  Mrs.  Varick,  that  in  you 
I  had  found  a  true  worshipper !  " 

Pauline  was  at  last  amused.  "I  usually  reserve 
my  worship  for  divinities,  Mr.  Prawle,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  found  but  a  few  of  these  in  all  the 
history  of  literature." 

"  I  see  !  "  cried  her  companion,  "  you  mean  that 
I  am  not  a  genius  !  " 

"•  I  did  not  say  so.  But  you  have  given  me  no 
proof  of  it." 

"  No  proof  of  it !  What  was  the  poem  I  have 
just  read  ?  " 

"  It  was  .  .  well,  it  was  resonant.  But  I  objected 
to  it,  as  I  have  told  you,,  on  personal  grounds." 
As  she  went  on,  Pauline  tried  to  deal  with  a  rather 
insubordinate  smile  of  keen,  sarcastic  enjoyment. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       B21 

"  So  you  really  think,"  she  continued,  "  that  you 
possess  absolute  genius  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain  of  it !  "  cried  Mr.  Prawle. 

"  That  is  a  very  pleasant  mental  condition." 

"  Do  you  doubt  it  ?  ...  Ah !  I  see  but  too 
plainly  that  you  do  !  " 

"  Frankly,"  said  Pauline,  "  I  do." 

Mr.  Prawle  flung  both  his  hands  towards  the 
ceiling.  "  It  is  Kindelon's  work,"  he  cried,  with 
an  effect  of  very  plaintive  lamelitation.  "  Kiude- 
loii  is  among  those  who  yet  oppose  me." 

"  Mr.  Kindelon  is  not  responsible  for  my  opin- 
ions," said  Pauline.  "  However,  you  probably 
have  other  opponents  ?  " 

"Their  name  is  legion!  But  why  should  I  care? 
Do  you  join  their  ranks  ?  .  .  .  Well,  Shelley  almost 
died  because  of  being  misunderstood !  I  had  hoped 
that  you  would  assist  me  in  —  yes,  in  the  publica- 
tion of  my  book  of  poems,  Mrs.  Varick.  I  do  not 
mean  that  I  wrote  to  you,  for  this  reason,  the  poem 
which  you  have  just  refused  to  hear  me  read.  Far 
from  it !  I  only  mean  that  T  have  cherished  the 
idea  of  securing  in  you  a  patron.  Yes,  a  patron  ! 
I  am  without  means  to  bring  forth  '  Moonbeams 
and  Mountain-Peaks.'  And  I  had  hoped  that 
after  hearing  me  read  what  I  have  already  told 
you  is  my  most  nobly  able  creation,  you 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  WIDOW. 

would  .  .  .  consent,  as  a  lover  of  art,  of  genius, 
of  ..." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Pauline.  "  You  wish  me 
to  assist  you  in  the  publication  of  your  volume.1' 
She  was  smiling,  though  a  trifle  wearily.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Prawle,  I  will  do  it." 

"  You  will  do  it ! " 

"Yes.  You  shall  have  whatever  cheque  you 
write  me  for"  .  .  She  approached  Prawle  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "But  you  must 
promise  me  to  destroy  'Her  Vindication'  —  not 
even  to  think  of  publishing  it.  Do  you?" 

"  Yes  .  .  if  you  insist." 

"  I  do  insist  .  .  Well,  as  I  said,  write  to  me  for 
the  amount  required." 

Prawle  momentarily  smiled,  as  if  from  extreme 
gratitude.  And  then  the  smile  abruptly  faded  1Y<  >m 
his  pale  face.  "  I  will  promise ! "  he  declared.  "  But 
.  .  oh,  it  is  so  horrible  to  think  that  you  help  me 
from  no  real  appreciation  of  my  great  gifts  —  that 
you  do  so  only  from  charity  !  " 

"Charity  is  not  by  any  means  a  despicable 
virtue." 

"From  a  great  millionaire  to  a  poor  poet  —  yes ! 
The  poet  has  a  sensitive  soul !  He  wants  to  be- 
loved for  his  verses,  for  his  inspiration,  if  he  i . 
a  true  poet  like  myself!" 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   WIDOW.       323 

"And  you  believe  yourself  a  true  poet,  Mr. 
Prawle?" 

"I?" 

It  is  impossible  to  portray  the  majesty  of  Mr. 
Prawle's  monosyllabic  pronoun.  "  If  I  am  not 
great,"  he  enunciated  slowly,  "then  no  one  has 
been  or  ever  will  be  great.  I  have  a  divine  mis- 
sion. A  truly  and  positively  divine  mission." 

Pauline  gave  a  little  inscrutable  nod.  "A  divine 
mission  is  a  very  nice  thing  to  have.  I  hope  you 
will  execute  it." 

"  I  shall  execute  it !  "  cried  Mr.  Prawle.  "  All 
the  poets,  on  every  side  of  me,  are  singing  about 
The  Past.  I,  and  I  alone,  sing  of  The  Future. 
I  set  evolution  to  music  .  .  what  other  poet  has 
done  that?  I  wrest  from  Buckle,  Spencer,  Tyn- 
dall,  Huxley — from  all  the  grand  modern  thinkers, 
in  fact  —  their  poetic  and  yet  rationalistic  elements ! 
If  you  had  heard  my  poem  to  yourself  through  — 
if  you  had  had  the  patience,  I  —  I  may  add,  the 
kindliness,  to  hear  it  through,  you  would  have 
seen  that  my  terminus  was  in  accord  with  the 
prevailing  theories  of  Herbert  Spencer's  noble 
philosophy  "... 

"  Shall  I  ever  cling  to  or  love  Herbert  Spencer 
again  ?  "  thought  Pauline,  "  when  I  see  him  made 
the  shibboleth  of  such  intellectual  charlatans  as 
this?" 


324        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

"  In  accord,"  continued  Mr.  Prawle,  "  with  every- 
thing that  is  progressive  and  imbigoted.  I  finished 
with  an  allusion  to  the  Religion  of  Humanity.  I 
usually  do,  in  all  my  poems.  That  is  what  makes 
them  so  unique,  so  incomparable  !  " 

Pauline  held  out  her  hand  in  distinct  token  of 
farewell. 

"  Belief  in  one's  self  is  a  very  saving  quality," 
she  said.  "I  congratulate  you  upon  it." 

Mr.  Prawle  shrank  offendedly  toward  the  door. 
"You  dismiss  me!"  he  burst  forth.  "After  I 
have  bared  my  inmost  soul  to  you,  you  dismiss 
me!" 

Pauline  tossed  her  head,  either  from  irritation 
or  semi-diversion.  "Ah,  you  take  too  much  for 
granted  !  "  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand. 

Mr.  Prawle  had  raised  himself  to  his  full  height. 
"  I  refuse  your  assistance  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  You 
offer  it  as  you  would  offer  it  to  a  pensioner  —  a 
beggar!  And  you  —  you,  have  assumed  the  right 
of  entertaining  and  fostering  literary  talent !  1 
scarcely  addressed  you  at  your  last  reception  .  . 
I  waited.  I  supposed  that  in  spite  of  Kindelou's 
known  enmity,  some  of  your  guests  must  have 
told  you  how  immense  were  my  deserts  —  how 
they  transcended  the  morbid  horrors  of  Rul'us 
C'  )ison,  and  the  glaring  superficialities  of  Arthur 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       325 

Trevor.  But  I  discover,  plainly  enough,  that  you 
are  impervious  to  all  intellectual  greatness  of 
claim.  I  will  accept  no  aid  from  you !  —  none 
whatever !  But  one  day,  when  the  name  of  Le- 
ancler  Prawle  is  a  shining  and  a  regnant  one,  you 
will  perhaps  remember  how  miserably  you  failed 
to  value  his  merits,  and  shrink  with  shame  at  the 
thought  of  your  own  pitiable  misjudgment !  "  .  .  . 

"Thank  Heaven  that  monstrosity  of  literary 
vanity  has  removed  itself!"  thought  Pauline,  a 
little  later,  when  Leander  Prawle  had  been  heard 
very  decisively  to  close  the  outer  hall-door.  "And 
now  I  must  dwell  no  longer  on  trifles  —  I  must 
concern  myself  with  far  weightier  matters." 

The  coming  marriage  to  Kindelon  on  the  mor- 
row seemed  to  her  fraught  with  untold  incentive 
for  reflection.  "  But  I  will  not  reflect,"  she  soon 
determined.  "  I  will  at  once  try  to  see  Mrs.  Dares, 
and  let  her  reflect  for  me.  She  is  so  wise,  so 
capable,  so  admirable  !  I  have  consented  because 
I  love !  Let  her,  if  she  shall  so  decide,  dissuade 
me  because  of  experiences  weightier  than  even  my 
own  past  bitter  ones !  " 

The  hour  of  her  resolved  visit  to  Mrs.  Dares 
had  now  arrived.  In  a  certain  way  she  congratu- 
lated herself  upon  the  distracting  tendency  of  both 
Mr.  Barrowe's  and  Mr.  Prawle's  visits.  "They 


326        THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A    WIDOW. 

have  prevented  me,"  she  mused,  "from  dwelling 
too  much  upon  my  own  unhappy  situation.  Mr. 
Barrowe  is  a  very  sensible  fool,  and  Mr.  Prawle  is 
a  very  foolish  fool.  They  are  both,  in  their  way, 
taunting  and  satiric  radiations  from  the  dying 
bonfire  of  my  own  rash  ambition.  They  are  both 
reminders  to  me  that  I,  after  all,  am  the  greatest 
and  most  conspicuous  fool.  Some  other  woman, 
more  sensible  and  clever  than  I,  will  perhaps  seek 
to  establish  in  New  York  a  social  movement  where 
intellect  and  education  are  held  above  the  last 
Anglomaniac  coaching-drive  to  Central  Park,  or 
the  last  vulgarly-select  cotillon  at  Delmonico's. 
But  it  will  be  decades  hence.  I  don't  know  how 
many  .  .  but  it  will  be  decades  .  .  All  is  over,  now. 
I  face  a  new  life;  I  have  ended  with  my  salon. 
Only  one  result  has  come  of  it  —  Ralph  Kindelon. 
Thank  Heaven,  he  is  a  substantial  result,  though 
all  the  rest  are  shadow  and  illusion ! " 

Pauline  soon  afterwards  started  on  foot  for  the 
residence  of  Mrs.  Dares.  It  was  nearly  dusk.  She 
had  determined  to  set  before  this  good  and  trusted 
woman  every  detail  of  her  present  discomfort,  and 
while  confessing  her  matrimonial  promise  as  re- 
garded the  marriage  with  Kindelon  on  the  morrow, 
to  exhort  counsel,  advice,  guidance,  justification. 
Being  a  woman,  and  having  made  up  her  mind, 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       327 

justification  may  have  been  the  chief  stimulus  of 
her  devout  pilgrimage. 

The  great  bustling  city  was  in  shadow  as  she 
rang  the  bell  at  Mrs.  Dares's  residence. 

A  strange,  ominous,  miserable  fear  was  upon 
her  while  she  did  so.  She  could  not  account  for 
it;  she  strove  to  shake  it  off.  She  remembered 
her  own  reflections:  "All  is  over  now.  I  face 
a  new  life." 

But  she  could  not  dismiss  the  brooding  dread 
while  she  waited  the  answer  of  her  summons  at 
Mrs.  Dares's  door. 


XV. 

rHHE  tidy  young  negress  opened  the  door  soon 
afterwards.  Pauline  asked  for  Mrs.  Dares. 
The  answer  came  that  Mrs.  Dares  was  at  home. 

"  I  wish  to  see  her  alone,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Miss  Cora 's  got  a  gent'man  in  the  back  room," 
came  the  answer,  "but  there's  nobody  right 
here." 

Between  "right  here"  and  the  "back  room," 
Pauline  was  soon  shown  the  difference.  As  she 
sat  in  a  little  prettily-furnished  apartment,  awaiting 
the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Dares,  she  readily  appre- 
hended that  some  sort  of  a  chamber  lay  behind. 
This  was,  reasonably,  the  Dareses'  dining-room. 
But  she  heard  voices  from  be}rond  the  rough  deco- 
rative woollen  tapestry  which  intervened  in  heavy 
concealing  folds. 

At  first,  seated  quietly  and  thinking  of  just 
what  she  should  say  to  Mrs.  Dares,  Pauline  quite 
disregarded  these  voices. 

"I  shall  tell  the  plain,  unvarnished  truth,"  she 
328 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW.       329 

reflected.     "I  shall  not  leave  a  single  detail.     I 
shall  trust  her  judgment  absolutely." 

A  moment  later  she  started,  with  a  recognizing 
sense  that  she  had  heard  a  familiar  tone  from  one 
of  the  voices  behind  the  tapestry.  Evidentty 
a  man  was  speaking.  She  rose  from  her  seat. 
She  had  approached  the  curtain  instinctively  be- 
fore realizing  her  act.  A  new  impulse  made  her 
withdraw  several  steps  from  it.  But  the  voice  had 
been  Kindelon's,  and  she  now  clearly  heard  Kin- 
delon  speak  again. 

u  Cora  !  "  she  heard  him  say,  "  there  are  certain 
wrongs  for  which  no  reparations  can  be  given.  I 
know  that  the  wrong  I  have  done  you  is  of  this 
sort.  I  don't  attempt  to  exculpate  myself.  I 
don't  know  why  I  came  here  to  bid  you  this  fare- 
well. It  was  kind  of  you  to  consent  to  see  me. 
Hundreds  of  other  women  would  have  refused, 
under  like  conditions.  But  you  have  often  said 
that  you  loved  me,  and  I  suppose  you  love  me 
still.  For  this  reason  you  may  find  some  sort  of 
consolation  hereafter  in  the  thought  that  I  have 
made  an  ambitious  marriage  which  will  place  me 
high  in  the  esteem  of  the  world,  which  will  give 
my  talents  a  brilliant  chance,  which  will  cause 
men  and  women  to  point  to  me  as  a  man  who  has 
achieved  a  fine  and  proud  success.  .  .  Good-by, 


330        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

Cora  .  .  .  Let  me  take  your  hand  once  — just 
once  —  before  I  go.  I  '11  grant  you  that  I  've  be- 
haved like  a  scamp.  I'll  grant  everything  that 
can  be  said  in  my  own  disfavor.  Good  heavens  ! 
don't  look  at  me  in  that  horribly  reproachful  way, 
you  — you  make  me  willing  to  renounce  this  mar- 
riage wholly !  Cora,  I  will  do  so  if  }~ou  '11  pardon 
the  past !  I  '11  come  back  to  you,  I  '11  devote  my 
future  life  to  you !  only  tell  me  that  you  forgive 
and  forget ! " 

"No,  no,"  Pauline  now  heard  a  struggling  and 
seemingly  agonized  voice  reply.  "There  is  no 
undoing  what  you  have  done.  Keep  your  promise 
to  her,  as  you  have  broken  your  faith  with  me.  I 
do  not  say  that  my  love  is  dead  yet ;  I  think  it  will 
not  die  for  a  long  time  .  .  .  perhaps  not  for  years. 
But  my  respect  is  wholly  dead.  .  .  I  will  not 
touch  your  hand ;  I  will  not  even  remain  longer 
in  your  presence.  I  —  I  have  no  vengeful  feeling 
toward  you.  I  wish  you  all  future  happiness.  If 
you  shine  hereafter  as  your  talents  deserve,  I  shall 
hear  of  your  fame,  your  triumph,  with  no  shadow 
of  bitterness  in  ray  soul.  And  my  chief  hope,  my 
chief  anxiety,  will  be  for  the  woman  whom  you 
have  married.  I  know  her  enough  to  know  that 
she  is  full  of  good  impulses,  full  of  true  and  fine 
instincts.  You  will  go  to  her  with  an  aching  con- 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       331 

science  and  a  stained  honor.  But  I  pray  that 
after  she  has  lifted  you  into  that  place  which  you 
seek  to  gain  through  her,  she  may  never  know 
you  as  I  have  known  you  —  never  wake  to  iny 
anguish  of  disappointment  —  never  realize  my 
depths  of  disillusion  !  " 

Pauline  waited  to  hear  no  more.  She  thrust 
aside  the  drapery  of  the  doorway  and  passed  into 
the  next  room. 

Cora  uttered  a  swift  and  smothered  cry.  Kin- 
delon  gave  a  terrible  start.  Then  a  silence  fol- 
lowed. It  seemed  to  Pauline  a  most  appreciable 
silence.  She  meant  and  wished  to  break  it,  yet 
her  speech  kept  defying  her  will,  and  resisted  her 
repeated  effort  at  due  control.  But  at  length  she 
said,  looking  straight  at  Kindelon, — 

"I  have  heard  —  I  did  not  mean  to  hear  — r- 1 
don't  want  you  to  say  a  single  word  —  there  is 
nothing  for  you  to  say.  I  simply  appear  before  you 
—  before  you  both  !  I  —  I  think  that  is  enough. 
I  know  every  thing  now.  You  .  .  must  have 
been  certain  that  if  I  had  previously  known  — 
that  if  you  had  not  told  me  a  falsehod  I  .  .  I  .  . 
should  never  "... 

And  then  poor  Pauline  reeled  giddily,  putting 
forth  both  hands  in  a  piteous,  distraught  way  .  .  . 
When  Kindelon  caught  her  she  had  already  lost 
consciousness.  .  .  . 


332       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

The  sense  of  blank  was  a  most  acute  one  when 
she  awoke.  Her  first  clear  thought  was,  "How 
long  have  I  been  unconscious  ?  "  .  .  .  And  then 
came  remembrance,  and  with  remembrance  the 
pain  of  a  deep-piercing  hurt. 

No  one  was  near  by  except  Mrs.  Dares.  Paul- 
ine lay  upon  a  lounge  ;  she  felt  the  yielding  of 
cushions  beneath  her  head  and  shoulders.  Her 
first  audible  sign  of  revived  consciousness  was  a 
little  tremulous  laugh. 

u That 's  you,  Mrs.  Dares ? "  she  then  said.  "I  — 
I  must  have  fainted.  How  funny  of  me !  I  —  I 
never  fainted  before." 

Mrs.  Dares  put  both  arms  about  her,  and  kissed 
her  twice,  thrice,  on  the  cheek. 

"  My  poor,  dear,  unhappy  lady  !  "  she  said.  "  I 
am  sorry  —  so  miserably  sorry." 

Pauline  repeated  her  tremulous  laugh.  She 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  reassertion  of  physical 
strength.  "I  —  I  came  here  to  see  only  you,  Mrs. 
Dares,"  she  now  said,  "  but  it  was  fated  otherwise. 
And  .  .  .  and  yet  it  has  all  been  better  —  far 
better."  Here  she  laughed  again,  and  a  little 
hysterically.  "  Oh,  how  superb  a  failure  I  've 
made  of  it,  haven't  I?  I  thought  the  'Morning 
Monitor'  had  dealt  me  my  last  coup.  But  one 
other  still  remained  !  " 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       333 

She  lay  silent  for  some  little  time,  after  this, 
and  when  Mrs.  Dares  presently  spoke  to  her  the 
lids  which  had  dropped  over  her  eyes  did  not  lift 
themselves.  It  was  so  sweet,  so  tender,  so  ex- 
quisitely gentle  a  voice  that  it  brought  not  the 
slightest  exciting  consequences. 

"  He  is  greatly  to  blame.  I  do  not  excuse  him 
any  more  than  you  will.  But  you  must  not  think 
the  worst  of  him.  You  must  think  him  weak,  but 
you  must  not  think  him  entirely  base.  I  look  at 
his  conduct  with  impartial  eyes.  I  try  to  look  at 
everybody  with  impartial  eyes.  He  was  far  be- 
low you  in  the  social  scale — that  is  the  phrase 
which  means  inferiority  nowadays,  and  I  am 
afraid  it  will  mean  inferiority  for  many  a  year  to 
come.  He  had  engaged  himself  to  my  dear  Cora. 
He  meant  to  marry  her.  Then  he  met  you. 
Everything  about  you  dazzled  and  charmed  him. 
It  was  yourself  as  much  as  your  position,  your 
wealth,  your  importance.  He  cared  for  you;  he 
was  enchanted  by  you ;  his  nature  is  not  a  deep 
nature,  though  his  intellect  is  large  and  keen.  He 
is  almost  the  typical  Irishman,  this  Kindelon  — 
the  Irishman  who,  in  statesmanship,  in  gover- 
nance, in  administrative  force,  has  left  poor  Ireland 
what  she  is  to-day.  He  meant  well,  but  he  had 
not  enough  morale  to  make  this  well-meaning 


334       THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A    WIDOW. 

active  and  cogent.  The  temptation  came,  and  he 
yielded  at  once.  There  was  no  premeditated  dis- 
honor. The  strain  was  put  upon  him  and  he 
could  not  bear  the  strain  —  that  is  all.  Such  men 
as  he  never  can  bear  such  a  strain.  There  was 
not  a  hint  of  coldbloodedness  in  his  conduct  — 
there  was  none  of  the  fortune-hunter's  deliberate 
method.  There  was,  indeed,  110  method  at  all ; 
there  was  nothing  except  an  inherent  moral  feeble- 
ness. Brilliant  as  he  is,  exceptional  as  he  is,  he 
can  no  more  help  consent  and  acquiescence  in  any 
matter  which  concerns  his  personal,  selfish  desires, 
than  the  chameleon  can  help  taking  the  tints  of 
what  surrounds  it.  And  I  do  not  believe  that  he 
knows,  at  this  hour,  whether  he  loves  you  or  my 
poor  Cora  the  best.  That  is  he  — that  is  Kindelon 
—  that  is  the  fascinating,  distressing  race  that  he 
represents.  He  loved  you  both ;  his  big,  expansive 
Irish  heart  was  quite  capable  of  doing  that.  But 
his  insecure,  precarious  conscience  was  incapable 
of  pointing  to  him  the  one  straight,  imperative 
path.  Hence  your  own  sorrow,  my  dear,  ill-used 
lady,  and  hence  the  sorrow  of  my  poor  unfortu- 
nate Cora ! " 

Pauline's  eyes  slowly  unclosed  as  Mrs.  Dares's 
last  words  were  spoken. 

"  You   speak   like    a   sybil ! "    she    murmured. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       335 

"But  you  speak  too  late.  If  I  had  only  talked 
with  you  a  little  sooner !  I  should  have  been  so 
prepared  for  such  words  then !  Now  they  only 
come  to  me  like  mockery  and  .  .  .  and  sarcasm  ! " 

Again  Mrs.  Dares  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  God  knows,"  she  said,  "  that  I  mean  them  for 
neither ! " 

"  God  help  me  from  believing  that  you  do ! " 
answered  Pauline.  She  raised  herself,  and  flung 
both  arms  about  Mrs.  Dares's  neck,  while  a  sud- 
den paroxysm  of  sobs  overmastered  and.  swayed 
her. 


XVI. 

~T3  Y  a  little  after  nine  o'clock,  this  same  evening, 
^-^  Pauline  was  driven  in  a  carriage  to  her  own 
residence. 

She  alighted  with  excellent  composure,  rang  the 
bell  and  was  promptly  admitted. 

But  she  had  no  sooner  entered  the  hall  than  she 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  Courtlandt. 

He  was  in  evening  dress ;  he  looked  thoroughly 
his  old  self-contained  self.  Pauline  passed  at  once 
into  the  little  reception-room  just  off  the  hall. 
Courtlandt  followed  her.  She  sank  into  a  chair, 
slowly  untying  the  strings  of  her  bonnet.  A 
brisk  fire  crackled  on  the  hearth;  she  stared 
into  it. 

"  So  you  came  to  me,"  she  said,  with  a  kind  of 
measured  apathy. 

"Yes,"  said  Courtlandt.  "I  obeyed  the  mes- 
sage that  you  sent  me." 

Pauline  impetuously  turned  and  looked  at  him. 
The  fire-light  struck  her  face  as  she  did  so,  and  he 
saw  that  her  gray  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears. 
336 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW.       337 

She  made  no  attempt  to  master  her  broken 
voice.  "  O  Court,"  she  said,  "  it  was  ever  so 
good  of  you  to  come  !  I  almost  doubted  if  you 
would!  I  should  have  remembered  that  you  — 
well,  that  you  cared  for  me  in  another  than  a 
merely  cousinly  way.  But  there  was  no  one  else 
—  that  is,  no  one  near  me  in  blood.  It  is  won- 
derful how  we  think  of  that  blood-kinship  when 
something  dreadful  happens  to  us.  We  may  not 
recall  it  for  years,  until  the  blow  comes.  Then 
we  feel  its  force,  its  bond,  its  claim  ...  I  want 
you  to  sit  down  beside  me,  Court,  and  quietly 
listen.  You  were  always  good  at  listening.  Be- 
sides, you  will  have  an  immense  satisfaction,  pres- 
ently ;  you  will  learn  that  your  prophecies  regard- 
ing Mm  were  correct.  My  eyes  are  open  —  and  in 
time.  I  shall  never  marry  him.  I  shall  never 
marry  any  one  again.  And  now,  listen."  .  .  . 

For  a  long  time,  after  this,  Courtlandt  showed 
himself  the  most  patient  of  auditors.  But  he  was 
silent  for  a  good  space  after  his  cousin  had  at 
length  ended,  while  the  fire  sputtered  and  fumed 
behind  the  silver  filigrees  that  bordered  its  hearth, 
as  though  it  were  delivering  some  adverse,  exas- 
perated commentary  upon  poor  Pauline's  late  dis- 
closures. 

But  presently  Courtlandt  spoke.     "  I  think  you 


338       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  WIDOW. 

have  had  a  very  fortunate  escape,"  he  said.  "And 
I  hope  you  mean,  now,  to  come  back  and  be  one 
of  us,  again." 

"  What  a  way  of  putting  it ! "  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  great  quivering  sigh. 

'"  There  's  no  other  way  to  put  it.  Theory 's  one 
thing  and  practice  another.  As  long  as  the  world 
lasts  there  will  be  a  lot  of  people  in  every  land 
who  are  better  and  hold  themselves  better  than  a 
huge  lot  of  other  people.  One  can  argue  about 
this  matter  till  he  or  she  is  black  in  the  face  ; 
it 's  no  use,  though  ;  the  best  way  to  get  along  is 
to  take  things  as  you  find  them.  You  and  I 
did  n't  make  society,  so  we  'd  better  not  try  to 
alter  it." 

Pauline  gave  a  weary  little  smile.  Her  tears 
had  ceased;  she  was  staring  into  the  fire  with 
hard,  dry,  bright  eyes. 

"  O  Court,"  she  said,  with  a  pathetic  little  touch 
of  her  old  cruelty,  "  I  'm  afraid  you  don't  shine 
as  a  philosopher.  You  are  better  as  a  prophet; 
what  do  you  say  of  Cora  Dares  and  him  ?  Will 
they  marry?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Courtlandt  unhesitatingly. 
"And  I  dare  say  he  will  make  her  an  excellent 
husband.  Did  n't  you  tell  me  that  she  was  an 
artist?  .  .  .  Well,  he's  an  editor,  a  sort  of  general 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       339 

scribbler,  so  they  will  be  on  a  delightful  equality. 
They  '11  marry.  You  say  I  'm  a  prophet ;  depend 
upon  it,  they  '11  marry  sooner  or  later." 

"  You  make  me  recall  that  you  are  Aunt  Cyn- 
thia's nephew,"  said  Pauline,  with  another  weary 
smile.  She  was  in  a  very  miserable  mood.  Her 
wound  still  bled,  and  would  bleed,  as  she  knew, 
for  many  a  day. 

Courtlandt's  preposterously  trite  and  common- 
place little  axiom  had  already  begun  to  echo  itself 
in  a  kind  of  rhythmical  mockery  through  her  dis- 
tressed brain  :  "  The  best  way  to  get  along  is  to 
take  things  as  you  find  them." 

Was  it  the  best  way,  after  all  ?  Was  thinking 
for  one's  self  and  living  after  one's  own  chosen 
fashion  nothing  but  a  forlorn  folly  ?  Was  passivity 
wisdom,  and  individualism  a  snare? 

The  fire  crackled  on.  There  was  more  silence 
between  the  two  cousins.  The  hour  was  growing 
late ;  outside,  in  the  streets,  you  heard  only  the 
occasional  rolling  of  carriage-wheels. 

"  By  the  way,  speaking  of  Aunt  Cynthia,  Court, 
—  will  she  ever  notice  me  again  ?  " 

"  Certainly  she  will." 

"  Is  ii't  she  furious  ?  " 

"  That  newspaper  article  has  repressed  her  fury. 
She 's  enormously  sorry  for  you.  Aunt  Cynthia 


340        THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW. 

would  never  find  it  hard,  you  know,  to  be  enor- 
mously sorry  for  a  Van  Coiiear ;  she  came  so  near 
to  being  one  herself;  a  Schenectady  is  next  door 
to  it." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  mused  Pauline.  She  was 
still  staring  into  the  fire.  "  There  is  that  clannish 
feeling  that  conies  out  strong  at  such  a  time  .  . 
Court,  I  will  write  to  her." 

"  Do,  by  all  means." 

"  Not  an  apology,  you  know,  but  a  .  .  well,  a 
sort  of  pacific  proposal." 

"  Do,  you  '11  find  it  will  be  all  right,  then. 
Aunt  Cynthia  would  never  put  on  any  grand  airs 
to  one  of  her  own  race ;  she  has  too  much  respect 
for  it."  .  .  . 

The  longest  silence  of  all  now  ensued.  The  fire 
had  ceased  to  crackle ;  its  block  of  crumbled  coal 
looked  like  the  fragments  of  a  huge  crushed  ruby. 
Pauline  did  not  know  that  Courtlandt  was  watch- 
ing her  when  she  suddenly  heard  him  say,  — 

"  You  're  going  to  have  a  hard  fight,  Pauline, 
but  you  '11  come  out  of  it  all  sound  —  never  fear. 
I  suppose  he  was  the  sort  of  chap  to  play  the  mis- 
chief with  a  woman,  if  she  once  gave  him  a 
chance." 

"  O  Court,"  came  the  melancholy  answer,  "  I 
was  n't  thinking  of  him,  just  then.  I  was  think- 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  A   WIDOW.       341 

ing  of  what  my  life  has  meant !  It  seems  to  me, 
now,  like  a  broken  staircase,  leading  nowhere. 
Such  a  strange,  unsatisfactory  life,  thus  far!" 

"All  lives  are  that,  if  we  choose  to  look  on  them 
so,"  returned  Courtlandt.  "  It  is  the  choosing  or 
not  choosing  to  look  on  them  so  that  makes  all  the 
difference  .  .  Besides,  you  are  young  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  am  seventy  years  old  !  "  she  cried,  with 
a  little  fatigued  moan. 

"  In  a  year  from  now  you  will  have  lapsed  back 
into  your  normal  age." 

"  I  can't  believe  it !  " 

"  Wait  and  see." 

"  Ah,  I  shall  have  to  do  a  good  deal  of  waiting  — 
for  nothing  whatever  !  " 

"  I  too  shall  wait,"  said  Courtlandt  grimly. 

She  suddenly  turned  and  scanned  his  face.  "For 
what  ?  "  she  sharply  questioned. 

"  For  you." 

Pauline  threw  back  her  head,  with  a  brief,  bitter 
laugh.  "  Then  you  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time ! " 
she  exclaimed,  with  sorrowful  irony. 

"I  expect  to  do  that,"  answered  Courtlandt, 
more  grimly  still.  "And  I  am  a  good  prophet. 
You  told  me  so." 


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